To Seek A Great Perhaps
by littlexkiller
Summary: In a race against Hydra to save SHIELD's most valuable duo, this is how Agent Leopold Fitz and Agent Jemma Simmons found their own Bahrain. Contains torture scenes, mental/emotional trauma, and major character death.
1. The Heart To Conquer It

_**A/N: It's been a while since I've written, so be gentle guys! As always, reviews, follows and favourites are forever appreciated, and I hope you enjoy my first Agents of Shield work.**_

* * *

 _Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers,_

 _but to be fearless in facing them._

 _Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain,_

 _but_ _  
_ _for the heart to conquer it._

\- Rabindranath Tagore, Collected Poems and Plays of Rabindranath Tagore

* * *

 **TWO YEARS AGO**

"Bloody hell, that was a close shave," Hunter groaned, dragging his hefty black weapon bag up the ramp of the Bus. "If we have to go on another mission only to find out there's no extraction team again, I _will_ end you, sir," he continued, shooting a dark look in Coulson's direction.

"Good luck with that, buddy," the Director shot back without missing a beat. "But you should save trying to get your revenge for later. Agent Hand organised this mission, not me."

Bobbi chuckled, her diamond-cut silhouette emerging sharply against the light streaming into the landing pad. "We can test the effectiveness of T.A.H.I.T.I some other time. I'm going to get us a decent meal. Who's up for Mexican?" she asked, diffusing the tension in the room effortlessly. Daisy and Ward raised their hands, too exhausted to speak.

"Count me in, darling. Better get rid of all this 'hangry' before I skin someone," Hunter quipped, rubbing his eyes with fatigue.

Fitz glanced sideways at Simmons with a knowing smirk. Nothing gets between Lance and a good burrito.

"Anyway, it's not like there'll be a whole lot of skinning left to do after Hydra finds out they've lost their favourite naval base - and to an organisation that supposedly doesn't exist, too," Hunter muttered darkly.

"Has you always been this grim?" Fitz enquired.

The former mercenary shrugged, resigned to the fact.

"Only when it's been rough. And these past few days have been the roughest."

* * *

Silence fell over the plane as the Operations division of the team returned to their living quarters to shower and relax.

"Hunter's right," Simmons said quietly, resting her hands on the railing. "Someone could have died out there. With no plan of exit and limited contact or weapons for self-defence, anything could've happened. Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Coulson grunted in approval.

"I think we should take greater precautions in the future. Surely someone with a bit more experience than Daisy should be delegating missions-"

"We've been through this, Jemma. Operations trusts her, I trust her, and so should you. However, I can't deny that it was painful to watch you all escape by the skin of your teeth. May, are you up there?" he called towards the cockpit. The slim Asian woman clad in black appeared a second later.

"Get Hand on the line. This won't happen again," he assured them sternly. May nodded quickly and headed for the control room.

* * *

A few minutes later, Daisy poked her head around the stairwell.

"Guys, come upstairs!" she whisper-squealed, mischief glinting in her eyes. "You have to see what I did to Mack."

Fitz and Simmons exchanged looks and followed Coulson up the stairs. There lay Alphonso Mackenzie, all swarthy six-feet-something of him, in a silly blonde wig from the craft store and lipstick smeared across his face in a ridiculous grin.

Simmons threw her head back and laughed as the short curls of her hair danced around her face with mirth. Fitz' smile widened at the sight of her.

"That's a sound I haven't heard in a while," he observed affectionately, bumping her elbow with his.

Mack stirred slightly, rubbing a sleep-heavy hand across his face, further smudging the creamy red across his face with a peaceful expression. The team crept back down the stairs into their respective bunks in an effort to avoid waking the giant.

* * *

The agents woke the next day to the sound of May on their screens from the pilot's seat.

"Everybody up! I hope you've all rested, because Coulson wants you all in the control room. We've got another mission, and you're gonna need all the beauty sleep you can get."

The screens switched off automatically and Fitz groaned as he dragged himself out of bed and into the living area.

"Then why wake us up if we need more sleep?" he grumbled to Simmons. She shrugged in response as they traversed the plane to meet Coulson and the others.

"Scratch that, May. First order of business," the Director began, voice filled with dread as he rested his hands on the interactive table. "We need to get Agent Mack to T.A.H.I.T.I. Right now."


	2. This Dreadful Body

_**A/N: Thank you so much to those who followed this story! This is chapter two, and I hope you guys find it sufficiently intense. Mad props to the Internet and my human biology textbook for always having my back throughout the research process for FitzSimmon's science-ing. I'm a total dork for science, so no complaining here. I've actually been really excited to get into the technical stuff. Special mention in the author's notes of the next chapter if anyone guesses the reference in here! Enjoy xx**_

* * *

 _I seem to myself, as in a dream,_ _  
_ _An accidental guest in this dreadful body._

 _-_ Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova

* * *

"FitzSimmons, you'll find Mack in the kitchen. Take Ward and get the poor man on a stretcher. Everyone else head to the lab, and don't get in the way," Coulson ordered, leading everyone outside. Daisy chewed her thumbnail as they made their way to the lab, the return of an old habit marking the level of stress she was experiencing. If there was one thing she hated, it was being kept in the dark. Bobbi noticed how tense she was and placed her hand on the girl's shoulder.

"They know what they're doing," the blonde woman soothed. "Mack's gonna be alright."

Hunter made a noise of agreement, despite the heavy frown scrunching the skin between his brows. He knew she had said it for Daisy's benefit, but it sounded more like she was reassuring herself instead.

In the kitchen, Simmons inhaled sharply at the sight of Mack collapsed on the ivory tiles. His muscles were spasming and his limbs were thrown out at odd angles. Drool trailed down the left corner of his mouth as his eyes rolled back to the whites. Fitz looked straight at the floor, avoiding accidentally catching sight of his workmate in such an alarming physical state before helping the other two roll Mack onto a stretcher.

"Okay," she breathed, recomposing herself as Ward grabbed the other end of the stretcher. "We lift on three. One, two... three."

Fitz' eyes met hers worriedly as he snatched an incident report form from its holder on the wall and followed them to the lab.

* * *

"Bad news, team," Coulson informed them as they piled into the workspace of white and stainless steel. "I was uploading yesterday's surveillance from the kitchen to the security sector of Communications and I saw... this."

They watched as a black and white image stuttered to life, showing Mack stumbling towards the sink to scrub the leftovers of their practical joke off his face. Then he visibly winced, clutching his chest in pain, and threw up violently on the counter. Coulson pursed his lips as he paused the image of Mack collapsed in the kitchen.

"Daisy, what the hell did you do to him?" May demanded. She swung around to face the younger agent with an accusatory expression.

"I didn't do anything! I swear!" the hacker exclaimed, hands tangling in her hair in frustration as she paced around the table. "It was just a stupid prank! I got the wig from the craft store and checked it for biological threats using Simmons' Bio-Threat scanner. I followed external object protocol, I don't understand..."

"Then clearly she's not the problem, and we need to find out what it is that affected Mack like _that_ ," Fitz cut in as he gestured towards Mack's trembling, feverish body on a stretcher being gently set down by Ward and Simmons, who was already on his line of thought.

"Gloves on, Fitz. Swab the lipstick and run a full analysis of its chemical composition. Then autoclave the living hell out of any tools you use. Whatever's in it won't be able to contaminate us that way. I'll take a few samples and test for neurotoxins or other biological agents present in the blood," she replied, and turned swiftly on her heels to collect the necessary equipment from the lab.

May took her place in the centre of the room.

"I'm putting the plane on route to the new Guest house. Reconstruction was completed a week ago, so we can access T.A.H.I.T.I there. We're going to do whatever we can to make sure he makes it through whatever this is," she told them with a grave expression. Her quiet, padded footsteps as she made her way to the cockpit seemed deafening in the tense silence of the control room.

* * *

Mack groaned softly behind them as he opened his eyes to half-conscious slivers. "Wh... what's... goin' on?" he slurred with difficulty. As he rolled his head to face them, the left hand side of his mouth began to droop slightly. Daisy frowned in concern and went to him, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Fitz' eyes widened in realisation as he observed Mack's symptoms. _Mouth drooping on one side, lack of movement with his left hand despite the twitching of the right, disorientation, difficulty speaking..._

"Guys," the engineer began nervously, "I'm not a specialist in the life sciences, but this is worse than we thought."

"Spit it out, Fitz," May replied impatiently, her efforts to remain calm rendering her voice cold and unforgiving. "What exactly is happening to Mack?"

He pressed his lips together and clasped his hands nervously in an attempt to calm his jittering limbs.

"He's..." Fitz began, swallowing hard. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath as he tried to continue. "Based on recent observations... he's having a stroke."

* * *

Simmons returned a minute later with a box of syringes in one arm and a compacted microscope bundled in the other.

"Right, I've got everything I need, so we should..." she trailed off as she saw Mack and observed the same signs her lab partner had. "Oh no," she breathed. "No, no, no, he shouldn't be deteriorating this quickly! Fitz, help me out here, would you?"

Daisy bit her lip nervously at the sound of Simmons voice turning shrill with worry and grabbed Ward's hand as the two scientists began to scuttle between the control room and the lab at a hectic pace.

Jemma tutted in concern for Mack as she inflated the sphygmomanometer as fast as she could while maintaining safe practice. "Just as I feared," she muttered, the cogs in her brain turning in full gear. "Systolic pressure is at one hundred and sixty, and climbing. Diastolic is ninety-two and similarly climbing. Record Stage One hypertension on the incident report."

Fitz remained silent as he scribbled down the data on the form he'd snatched from the lab after Coulson's debrief. The team had never seen Simmons so concerned, or give so many orders at once at rapid fire.

"Help me set up a cerebral arteriogram."

"If you find an ECG, bring it to me as fast as you can."

"I'll get a probe, are you familiar with pulse oximetry? Actually, don't answer that, just do it."

* * *

Mack's intermittent groans became louder and more frequent. "I can't see," he panted heavily. "I can't see anything. It's all dark. You gotta help me..."

"Fitz, we need to hurry up. He's getting worse and the test results are nowhere near ready," Simmons warned. The pressure was getting to her now.

"I can see that, Jemma," the engineer replied, tension straining his voice. _Now I just have to find one of Mack's many veins and stab him_ _with a needle. Should be perfectly fine_ , he told himself. There were few things he hated more than blood and medical equipment under someone's skin, much less doing it himself. _It's not my division_ , Fitz reasoned. But this wasn't just any cadaver or unsuspecting classmate in a controlled environment for an Academy assignment. This was Mack. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and pricked his friend as gently as he could, slowly feeding the arterial catheter through the vein in the arm in front of him. Simmons took a moment from writing hastily on the document she was holding to give her partner an encouraging smile, and his spirit was revived at the sight of her. It was a simple gesture, and all things considered very much out of place in a medical emergency, but he would steal a TARDIS to relive that moment at the blink of an eye.

"What do we do now?" Fitz asked her, looking up almost reverently.

His partner's teeth tugged at her lip in thought as her eyes met his once more.

"We wait."


	3. A Dangerous Opportunity

_**A/N: My, this is getting rather intense, isn't it? Literally spending hours making sure this is somewhat scientifically accurate – with a little creative license, of course. Feel free to correct anything. Reviews, follows and favourites are very much appreciated (dare I say preferred). You know the drill. Tell me what you enjoy about this series and I'll endeavour to deliver. Also, one of the driving motivators behind writing this in the first place was obviously the FitzSimmons ship – even if it seems quite ensemble right now - but I am dreadful at fluff, so... Prompts? Suggestions? Please?**_

* * *

 _When written in Chinese, the word 'crisis' is composed of two characters._

 _One represents danger and the other represents opportunity._

\- John F. Kennedy

* * *

When Simmons checked Mack's blood pressure again, her face fell and she began placing tubes and electrodes all over him even more frantically than before.

"Administering IV tPA now. He's losing brain cells with every passing minute. And for Pete's sake, are the carotid ultrasound results out yet? We need to stabilise him!"

Their team watched tensely through the glass as her partner ran to the monitor on the other side of the lab, fingers a blur as he entered data they didn't understand. After a minute of Fitz impatiently bouncing his knee up and down, the computer blipped and the screen filled with rows and rows of big numbers.

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus in a manger," he whispered, eyes wide as saucers. "Jemma, you'll want to come see this!"

She carefully set down the tubes in her hand and ran over to meet him. The other agents watched with bated breath as her forehead creased in a combination of fear and determination.

"Right. Okay, he's going to be fine," Simmons reassured him.

"Fine? _Fine_? Are we looking at the same information?"

"Set up a CT scan and follow up with an MRI. I'm going to perform mechanical thrombectomy, and I need as many stents as you can find. And I need them yesterday, Fitz!" she ordered.

He nodded quickly and scrambled to set up the equipment as Simmons turned to face Coulson.

"Sir, requesting permission to perform surgery as soon as images from our scans are available, in order to mechanically remove clots from Agent Mack's brain," she said, voice trembling ever so slightly as she clasped and unclasped her hands in an attempt to remain calm.

Coulson nodded his head in approval. "Do whatever you have to, Jemma," he replied shortly.

Inhaling deeply, she pressed the x-rays and ultrasound images against a light box. Simmons pressed her lips together in a firm line, inhaling deeply as she injected general anaesthesia into Mack's intravenous drip.

"Fitz, you might want to look away now," she warned softly, gesturing with the tilt of her head towards the automatic doors. He all but pouted at the thought of leaving her to perform surgery alone, with the exception of some very helpful machines he'd built himself, but alone nonetheless. His partner shot him a knowing look when he hesitated, and he exited the room without a word. Given the tendency of his hands to tremble around the sight of the human anatomy sans flesh, he knew she was better off without him anyway.

"Good luck, Jemma," he whispered, pressing a hand against the glass of the lab doors.

* * *

It was the longest two hours any of them had waited before a pale and exhausted Simmons trudged towards them, passing through the threshold between the lab and the sitting area before pressing her back against the doors with a sigh.

"So, is he going to be okay?" May asked, crossing her arms tight against her body.

There was a moment of silence, and the team held their breath until the haggard scientist before them broke into a grin and started laughing.

"It took a good half hour to drain the toxin and get his platelets back up, but he's going to be just fine," Simmons grinned with relief. "About a week from now we'll get him on anticoagulants and perhaps a blood thinner in tablet form – he'll have to take those once a day before breakfast – but he'll be off the IV by then and very much able to begin his journey to physical recovery. Fitz can lead his physiotherapy."

The engineer looked up abruptly from his hands at the mention of his name. "Uh – um, okay. Sure," he mumbled awkwardly.

Coulson nodded at her with a little smile. "I'm proud of you, team," he told them. "You took him somewhere safe, identified the problem and fixed the situation. The epitome of SHIELD protocol."

Jemma grinned until her cheeks hurt and stole a look at Fitz. Her heart fluttered at the sight of his crooked smile, warm blue eyes twinkling, basking in the Director's praise. She would never get tired of seeing his self-deprecating smile.

* * *

She jumped slightly at the soud of Coulson's voice breaking through her reverie.

"Jemma? You there?" he asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

"Uh, of course sir. What do you need?" she replied somewhat sheepishly, knowing he had seen her staring at Fitz again.

"I was saying, debrief me on the current situation."

"Right. Well, it appears that Mack has suffered from a transient ischemic attack in reaction to high levels of organophosphate pesticide-"

"You wanna try that again? In English?"

Simmons looked down guiltily. It had to be the umpteenth time he'd had to ask her that during debrief.

"Basically there are a few different types of strokes a person could have, each with its different causations, but the interesting thing about Mack's in particular is a transient ischemic attack – TIA for short – is what we refer to in the medical world as a warning stroke of sorts. It's usually the first one people have, and needs to be treated within the first three hours – which luckily, we could. However – in testing, we discovered Mack already had high blood pressure and rather unsightly cholesterol – which implies, sir, that someone with access to our medical records caused this. As in, it could've been any of us."

She grimaced as Coulson furrowed his brows together, aging him instantly.

"I really don't mean to cause reason for alarm, sir, but-"

"I know. Someone within our team is trying to take us down from the inside."


	4. The Mirror Is Breaking

_**A/N: I cannot believe how well this is going! Massive thanks to everyone following this series. Please keep reviewing and inboxing me your feedback, I want to make sure I deliver what you guys want to see. Welcome to chapter 4 – bit of a short one. FitzSimmons get their deduction on, things get awkward, and sexual humour. I don't even know anymore :') Also keep in mind that this fic assumes Fitz was able to make a somewhat full recovery after much rehabilitation and study.**_

 _ **I hope you all enjoy this one! There's a completely ludicrous quote, so that too c:**_

* * *

 _Trust is like a mirror,_

 _you can fix it if it's broken,_

 _but you can still see the crack in that mother fucker's reflection._

\- Lady Gaga

* * *

"Wait, tell it to me again. What exactly are we looking for with this lipstick from the dollar store?" Fitz asked, cocking his head to the side as if it would help him see the situation from another angle.

"Do keep up, dear," Simmons admonished lightly as she paced forwards and backwards across the lab floor. "Someone got a hold of Daisy's lipstick – assuming it isn't Daisy herself – and absolutely saturated it in an ambiguous organophosphate pesticide. I scanned it at least five times – nothing! Whatever it was, it caused a massive jolt to Mack's nervous system, and given he already had high blood pressure, he was very susceptible to a stroke as it was. But Operations protocol dictates that you don't disclose medical history with _anyone -_ not even to your own team - to avoid this exact situation. So Coulson and I have deducted that it must be someone inside the team, with access to our medical records, who is also trained-slash-intelligent enough to decipher them."

"So that rules out Ward."

"Fitz!"

"Really? The man's got significant muscle definition, guns for _days –_ and I'm not talking about the ones I built for him - and an IQ in the double digits. I mean, he's _Operations._ You really think he could hack into SHIELD's very, _very_ protected archives with technology he doesn't have access to as a field agent, whip up a fake Level 9 ID from absolutely nowhere _and_ obtain a rare hybrid pesticide of some sort, knowing it would trigger a TIA in Mack? And here I thought you were the smarter one."

"I see your point," she conceded reluctantly. "But we must remain objective here, Fitz. Operations agents are trained from day one to 'deceive and retrieve'. Horrific rhyme schemes aside, he is perfectly capable of pulling the wool over all our eyes. Even Daisy. Who knows what he's drilled into her-"

"Rather, what has he _not_ drilled into her, if you know what I mean-"

Blood rushed to Simmons' cheeks at his innuendo as he made obscene thrusting motions at the air in front of him. Usually she would laugh along, rolling her eyes internally at his crude yet witty humour, but something about the way he looked at her made her skin burn for him.

"That was... completely inappropriate! Please keep your mind on the task at hand, Fitz. Need I remind you that you're very valuable to this investigation and to the team. And... and me. Please?"

He looked down at his Converse, unsure of how to respond. _Deflection with humour it is,_ he decided internally, biting at the inside of his cheek as he thought of something witty to diffuse the heaviness between them.

"As if you haven't seen them together though," Fitz shot back incredulously after a beat. "Every day in the training area, it's always ' "Oh Daisy, your technique's off. Let me wrap my grotesquely muscular arms around you while pretending to shift you even though everyone can see you're dead on.' "

His ridiculous impression of Ward's American accent brought a warm smile to her face.

"I wouldn't say 'grotesque' - but point taken," Simmons relented with a sheepish grin. "Wait, wait, wait..." she began, stopping dead in her tracks. "Do you mean to say they could be working together? I didn't even consider that! Good work, Watson."

"It's Sherlock to you, Jemma."

"Sure, okay. But... you know what a serious accusation that is?"

His mouth set into a hard line.

"I know. I really wish it hadn't been Daisy's prank that went awry, she's..."

"Beautiful."

"A good person," they finished at the same time.

Fitz chose to ignore the hint of envy tainting Simmons' usually pleasant and upbeat voice. _If only you knew_ , he lamented mentally. _If only you could see the Jemma that I see. Beautiful doesn't do you justice._

* * *

May always loved the graveyard shift. There was something about the rare moments between, the gaps and pauses of life, that she enjoyed. Yeah, she was probably a hermit. But she was allowed to be. She was the goddamn Cavalry. So May set the plane to autopilot and allowed herself to be lulled to sleep by the gentle bumps and dips of the Bus, dissolving into rest while shapes flew by on the radar and her communications screen flashed red.


	5. I Will Find You

_**A/N: This has to be the most motivation I've had to write a fic in a long time. I love you guys. Also mild coarse language warning. Welcome to chapter 5 where, once we get past the craziness, fluff starts to creep in. I still suck at getting romantic-al so help a sista out and tell me what to do in the reviews.**_

* * *

 _I will find you.  
In the farthest corner, I will find you._

–- Mary E. Pearson, The Kiss of Deception

* * *

May jolted awake to the sound of multiple sirens, an array of screens whining around her.

"Shit."

She spun rapidly in her chair as everything around her flashed and shrieked, trying to determine the cause of the pandemonium. The agent scanned the monitors surrounding her, hoping it was a simple mechanical malfunction. It had to be. No one took Melinda May by surprise, air, sea or land. But then she looked to a specific screen, and there were two words printed on it that made her stomach drop.

 _MISSILE INCOMING._

 _No. This can't be right_ , May thought to herself. _I would've heard them. I would've_ seen _them. How is this possible?_ Looking around madly, she stabbed the button that would show her the rear cameras. Sure enough, there was the promised comet of metal and fire gaining ground on them every second. May hit the refresh button three times, hoping it was a visual error of some kind. When the image didn't change, she sat back in the pilot's seat helplessly. _I'm still dreaming_ , she told herself firmly. _This is a nightmare, May. You're dreaming again._

And yet, when she looked at the accusing red screen, there it was.

 _MISSILE INCOMING._

 _Definitely not a dream. Hydra. Goddamnit. Can't even get a week of peace_ , she thought irritably.

"Fitz, are you there?" the agent asked quietly into the line, watching clouds drift past the plane's headlights in the early morning darkness. "Fitz, I think our cloaking device went down overnight."

She was met with a quiet snuffle and the rustle of his bedsheets. Asleep. It was three in the morning. Of course everyone was asleep. _Looks like the Cavalry has to handle this one on her own_ , she mused to herself grimly.

* * *

Panic set in as she struggled to maintain her icy calm, pulling levers and flicking switches around her as she formulated the best ways to get everyone out alive.

 _I need to find out how fast the missile is moving. Estimate time from air to ground. Use the safest and most efficient way to get the team out of this. And try not to wake those degenerates up, because I love them all, deep down. Somewhere._ Her lips pursed in habitual disdain at the thought. _That's a problem,_ she told herself angrily. _Attachments make you a liability. Attachments make you vulnerable._ More sirens erupted around her, shocking her out of her reflective moment.

 _Attachments also don't help you get a plane out of harm's way._

 _MISSILE INCOMING. DISTANCE: 3 MILES._

Dear God. There wasn't enough time for safe landing, let alone answering the deeper questions in her life. She didn't even remember falling asleep. May didn't remember the last time she'd been able to fall asleep, not since signing up to join Coulson on his mad chase around the globe.

 _MISSILE INCOMING. DISTANCE: 2 MILES._

"Team, prepare for emergency vertical landing!" she warned through the mic. Coulson groaned sleepily through the comms in response.

"May, what's going on-"

 _MISSILE INCOMING. DISTANCE: 1 MILE._

May puffed as she pushed the steering lever backwards with violent effort, trying desperately to remain calm and ignore the sounds of her teammates shouting in confusion. Between pulling most of the levers in her vicinity and trying to make sure she didn't crash the damn plane, she pawed at the off button. May couldn't very well save them if they were distracting her.

 _They wouldn't be distracting if you didn't get so attached to them_ , she scolded herself harshly.

The Bus began to tremble and moan around her with effort as it fought the changes in air pressure, speed and gravity until it came to a grinding, harsh stop. She panted hard as the belt buckle was finally able to be pried off her lithe torso, and switched the comms back on. It was a circus of noise.

"What in the bloody hell is going on-"

"Fitz, there's no need to-"

"Mack, can you hear-"

"There's no need to panic, team-"

"Guys, shut up!" May hollered into the mic. Immediately the lines fell silent. "A missile came across my radar about ten minutes ago and we were forced to make a vertical landing. I was unable to identify the source of the missile, but I did manage to land the plane about a mile from a local SHIELD safehouse. Also, welcome to Nevada."

"Thank you May, have you ever considered becoming a tour guide?" Fitz shot back sarcastically, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. His verbal prod was met with an equally icy glare. Jemma couldn't help but smile a little at his grumpy humour. He was an odd sight for tired eyes; all sarcasm, fourth day stubble and matching with her in their pastel bunny slippers.

Coulson rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand in fatigue, reminiscent of a sleepy child woken early in the morning for school.

"This is not a time to be having petty arguments, guys. Training's starting in twenty for Operations anyway. Agents Ward, Morse, Hunter and Sk – sorry, Daisy – Agent May's going to drill you extra hard today. I want to see you doing circuits until forfeit or exhaustion. You all need to be at peak performance if we're going to resolve our... current issues."

Daisy stifled a snort. "That would be putting it pretty mildly, sir," she responded drily.

Fitz began to shift uncertainly on his feet as he stroked his thumb across the growing stubble peppering his jawline. "So Simmons and I can go back to gettin' our beauty sleep, right?" he asked hopefully.

"I was just getting around to that. FitzSimmons, you and the rest of Sci-Tech are starting bright and early today. I don't need to remind you that Hydra can come after us whenever they feel like it until you repair the plane's cloaking mechanism," Coulson told them pointedly.

Simmons groaned softly in aversion, looking at her partner apologetically as the field agents headed back to their living quarters to get dressed for training.

"It was worth a try," he insisted with sigh as she looped her arm through his, trudging at a leisurely pace alongside him to the lab.

"Pfft, you know Coulson can't give us any extra 'beauty sleep'. Especially not these days."

"I can dream, Jemma."

* * *

Fitz studied the ripple of muscles beneath Mack's chocolate-toned skin against the sterile white of the cot as he shifted in his sleep, and the engineer shook his head slowly in disbelief.

"The Bus makes a sudden landing, and he's still sleeping like the beautiful geode of a human that he is," he commented affectionately.

"You love him," Simmons grinned. "You guys have the best bromance. Leophonso... no, Mitz. Mitz! That's adorable!"

"Heh, yeah," Fitz agreed somewhat airily, three words bouncing around his head.

 _I love you._

How long could it possibly take someone as smart as her to figure out?

"I – ahem, so he's getting better, yeah? Vitals have been stable for the past eight hours or so."

"Yeah, yeah," she agreed brightly. "He's doing really rather well for such a sudden onset. Must be something in the water at the Ops Academy."

"Yeah..." he trailed off absently.

"Fitz? You alright there?"

"Wha – mhmm. Yep. I'm definitely here."

Simmons laughed softly, an ethereal, water-like sound. He decided that it was his favourite sound in the world.

* * *

"I should be repairing the plane right now," Fitz stated, a guilty expression flitting across his face. "You wanna come with?"

"Absolutely. You can teach me all about your fancy new shiny things."

"They are _not_ \- they're not that shiny. And don't call them that. They're tools."

"Mhmm. Sure Jan."

"I don't know why I'm friends with you, you... monkey."

Simmons eyes lit up in mock delight. "Aww, that's the sweetest thing you've ever called me!"

"Uh, no, it was an insult, Jemma. I'm being sassy," he insisted stubbornly.

"Except you happen to _love_ monkeys, so relative to your fascination with them, it's one of the highest compliments you could give. Truthfully, I would love to be your hypothetical monkey."

A warm, tingly feeling spread in his chest, fizzling out like a sparkler into his abdomen. It was a sensation he was not familiar with in all of his years. It felt like a hug from someone he hadn't seen in years, lazy brunch on Sundays and Easter with his family on the outskirts of Glasgow, all at once. Love seemed far too one-dimensional, too monosyllabic a word to sum up such far-reaching feelings. No, this was something else entirely. As they stepped out onto the crunchy soil of a landing strip into the final throes of a Las Vegas summer, a gentle breeze meeting their skin like an old friend, he resolved to find a word in his Jemma-addled brain to describe these feelings.

 _And when I do_ , Fitz promised himself, _I'm going to tell her_.


	6. We All Must Suffer

_**A/N: Welcome to chapter six, dearest viewers!**_ _ **Can't believe how many of you there are! Philinda anyone?**_ _ **(A.k.a**_ _ **the chapter**_ _ **where Coulson is a crybaby and May is the voice of reason).**_ _ ** **I must say, in all of these chapters, never have I found a quote so incredibly tailored to an update. Hence, this one is divided into three, one scene to represent each segment of the quote. Enjoy!****_

* * *

 _We must all suffer one of two things: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret or disappointment._

\- Jim Rohn

* * *

PART ONE: THE PAIN OF DISCIPLINE

Coulson collapsed heavily into his chair with a groan. Sleep-deprived and fatigued beyond belief, he made weary eye contact with May. She acknowledged him with the slightest of nods, and that was all they needed at this point. They were at a level of communication that transcended the verbal. But some things needed to be said.

"Can I ask you something?"

May nodded and gestured carelessly. "Ask away, Director."

"Do you think the team will make the year?"

She frowned at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. This year's been the worst with Hydra since the late nineteen-forties when Carter ran this joint. I'm just... I'm not sure everyone will survive this time."

"Don't say that, Phil," she replied soothingly, bringing a hand to his arm in sympathy.

There was something valuable about having known each other for so long. One touch from someone who'd fought alongside him for years was more powerful than any compartmentalisation he'd done to cope with his reality.

"We can't keep doing this, May," the Director lamented. "It's – it's too much. For everyone. For me. First that stupid infiltration with Hydra – then a _missile_? The emergency landing didn't just damage the plane, it added to the stress everyone here is already experiencing."

"Everyone knows what they signed up for," she countered. "And you've said it before. It's a part of our job. What's changed?"

"Honestly?" he replied, bitter sarcasm tainting his usually warm voice. "I'm fifty-one years old. It's getting a little lonely. Which is understandable, having to bounce back from all these missions gone south on my own. I have no family – no wife or kids, no friends that aren't inherently distrusting..."

"Come on, Phil, it's the same for all of us. It's never bothered you like this before."

"No, it has," Coulson sighed. He swallowed hard, trying to stave off the oncoming storm of emotion. "It always has. I just got worse at hiding it."

As he looked down at his shoes despondently, a frown creased the perfect skin of May's forehead as she brought a hand up beneath her chin, deep in thought.

"How long has it been?" May asked cryptically. She had developed a knack for being cryptic.

"Since what?"

"Since you cried, Phil. Since you were really honest with yourself."

Her words hit home somewhere deep in his heart, and he took a moment to consider her words. _Don't do it, Phil,_ he scolded himself. _Don't you dare cry. You're a grown-ass man and the Director of SHIELD. Just get over it._

"Look, you're right. We all go through this. I'm being stupid and emotional. Mid-life crisis and all. Just forget it."

Her expression of genuine concern and love wiped all notions of avoiding the subject off his face. In that moment he knew all it took was for May to raise her eyebrow in that knowing way, and he'd be halfway into his life story. Secrets, dumb mistakes and all. It was one of her many talents.

"We both know you're not leaving here without telling me what's up," the sly agent pressured, a rare sympathetic smile spreading across her face. In that brief moment, he caught a flashing glimpse of the warmth that was once inside her.

* * *

PART TWO: THE PAIN OF REGRET

Then he blinked, and it was gone. And he saw, he truly _saw_ what had happened to them. He saw the ice where her heart was, and the boiling red of where Fitz was once calm and quiet. He saw the anxious twitch Simmons suffered when someone raised their voice around her, and the way Ward grabbed Daisy's hand like he'd never see her again before he deployed for a mission. He saw what the job had done to his team.

"I've been seeing Andrew again," Coulson blurted, shattering the silence with his confession. His words hung heavy in the air between them, simmering with heat and sheer weight. She knew he hadn't sought out her psychiatrist ex-husband for therapy since Bahrain. Without warning, something broke inside him as he began to weep. May immediately took him into her arms and squeezed him tenderly, and it made him feel something he hadn't felt in a long time. Coulson quivered in his brokenness as the tears kept flowing, an ache of inescapable vulnerability permeating through his gut as he sobbed the words into May's ear.

"Everyone here has someone to love. Someone to come home to, someone to greet and say, 'Thank God you're alive.' But who do we have, Mel? I'm such an old man, and I've never had..." he choked through his tears. The man watched as her almond eyes grew hazy with emotion he hadn't seen before. "I've never had someone like you."

"Phil..."

"I think we should talk about the fraternisation clause."

May extricated herself from him stiffly, and he looked at her despairingly like a scolded child. They both knew what the protocol was for relationships. That is, they weren't really a thing amongst the higher ranks. Past Level Six, you lived alone and you got the job done. Relationships were limited to the platonic or the professional variations. Flirting was punishable by demotion.

Love made you weak.

Love made you a liability.

So she really had no other choice.

"Phil, I-" May began, voice watery with the difficulty of it all, knowing the impact of her response. There was no going back from here. The agent cleared her throat and continued. "Phil, this team needs a good leader. You are that leader. We both know good leaders can't get distracted, and believe me when I say I am just a distraction to you. Nothing good will come out of something like... this." She gestured between the two of them. The steel in her tone cut deep into Coulson, and doubts began to fill his mind.

 _Why would you ever think she would love you? You stupid old man, all these years and you've ruined it. You've ruined everything._

May saw the sadness inside the man before her, surrounding him like a whirlpool and he was stuck in the middle. The ice in her heart cracked for him.

"I'm sorry," she spoke, a strange airiness in her voice, like there was something in her throat that was choking her. "I'm so, so sorry Phil. I can't give you what you want. But I think you knew that."

He shook his head with a weak smile and waved her away, as if it was nothing important.

"You're right. You're always right," he replied, a similar detached airiness in his tone. "Let's forget this ever happened."

 _I don't want to forget this_ , Coulson thought sadly to himself. His own words were the final nail in his emotional coffin.

May opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it firmly instead, and nodded respectfully. She simply nodded as if this were some kind of casual order, as if he had asked her to double-check the air supply before take-off. And they resumed their work as if nothing happened.

* * *

PART THREE: THE PAIN OF DISAPPOINTMENT

"Grant, get over here," Daisy called as she motioned to the cream leather seat in front of her. The young hacker smiled up at him as he slid almost gracefully into the chair.

"What could a beautiful woman possibly want from me?" he replied smoothly with a self-assured smile. That was Ward in a sentence. Always smooth, always cocky, always on his toes, ready to spring into action.

 _You wonderful douchebag of a man_ , Daisy mused to herself. _If only you knew that I know. I_ know _, Ward. I know what you are. I know who you really are._

"I've been looking through the Index again, and look what I found," Daisy told him, a certain coldness entering her tone.

Printed on the screen was a headshot of him from his ID card and details beside it. His bright smile melted from his expression as his stomach flip-flopped at the sight of the words, unmoving, accusing him with their bold font.

* * *

 **GRANT DOUGLAS WARD, 32**

 **BORN ON JANUARY 7, 1983 IN SEATTLE, WASHINGTON**

 **GIFTED**

 **ABILITIES – NOT SPECIFIED**

* * *

"You wanna explain this to me?" she demanded, crossing her arms angrily.

"Daisy, I..." Ward began, completely at a loss for words.

"That's what I thought," the hacker spat as she turned swiftly on her heel, leaving him to stare at the accusing words. _The nerve of him to keep this from me_ , she fumed internally. _Months and months of isolation in quarantine, constant testing, literally breaking bones for my 'gift', and he never thought to tell me he had one too?_ _No one thought to tell me my partner has abilities?_ _You better make this up to me, lover boy._

His fists came to rest on the table as he bowed his head in thought, scrunching his face like a child concentrating. _Shit_ , he thought. _This whole time, everyone knew... except me, apparently._ Ward ran his fingers through his hair and pulled at the roots in frustration, plonking himself down into the firm cushion of the living room couch.

 _What else have you been keeping from me, SHIELD?_


	7. He Is What He Hides

_**A/N: Chapter 7. Good Lord. Never would have thought I'd hit 900+ views from the USA alone in four chapters! (I wrote this as the fourth chapter went up). Thank you so much, you guys! And bear in mind this fic also assumes Ward was never Hydra, so the team does not hate his guts. But, and this is important – there remains a dark side of Ward that is itching to be explored (yet won't be in this chapter lmao). Take note. Also the Inhumans are still a thing, and Daisy is still badass as Quake (although I still prefer her name as Skye) :/ Massive shout out to all my Brazilian and European readers - you guys are KILLING IT this month in my stats. I love you all so much. Enjoy!**_

* * *

" _Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides."_  
–- André Malraux

* * *

Daisy stormed into the Director's office, rage all but steaming from her ears like a train.

"Ward's been on the Index since _birth_ and no one thought to mention that to me?" she accused furiously. "All this time? Really?"

Coulson looked up from his chair with a grimace. "I see you've hacked into the archives. _Again_. I don't recall giving you authorisation to access the Index for a mission. Actually, I don't remember giving you authorisation at all."

"Don't avoid the subject, Phil," Daisy warned, bitterness creeping into her tone.

The older man bit at the inside of his cheek, stuck between the infamous rock and hard place. _Rock it is_ , he decided.

"Fine. I know about Ward. His mother listed him as having 'unusual talents' that couldn't be explained by modern science, so to be safe, we slapped him on the Index. Happy?"

A stubborn frown creased her forehead as her teeth attacked her bottom lip.

"But – why? Don't you require proof of the subject's abilities and like... hella testing? Shouldn't you know by now? Shouldn't _everyone_ know?"

"And why do you think Garrett took him in?" Coulson shot back. "Burning down your family home doesn't exactly scream SHIELD material, does it?"

It was more a statement than a question. Daisy remained silent.

"So you're telling me that SHIELD left him in the woods for three months, recruited him at ground level and he worked his way up, thinking he was some kind of... I don't know, some kind of Operations _prodigy_? And you let him believe that. I mean, it's not like the man isn't talented, but seriously? Have you seen his ego inflate itself? It's almost impressive."

"Now, I'm glad you're finding light in the situation. It's actually kind of a relief now that you know you're in a romantic entanglement with a highly-dangerous man. A man who also happens to have special powers that we don't know anything about."

She could have laughed. Daisy really wanted to laugh, but her gut was twisting like a dish sponge having the suds wrung out of it.

"So now..." Coulson continued, a cautious energy hanging in the air, "now, maybe you can help us figure him out. Without his knowledge, of course."

"Wait. You don't mean to say..."

The Director chuckled at her and waved a finger under her nose.

"He's unspecified for a reason, Daisy. His case is double-blind. Not even he knows."

She bit her lip again, this time with a guilty expression, and he looked at her with increasing alarm.

"Agent Johnson, did you _show_ the subject their place on the Index?"

The sheepish look on her face said it all.

"Phil, I'm sorry-"

"It's too late for that now. We need to abort. The investigation has been compromised."

His voice was stony and cold, but any onlooker could see the reluctance in his eyes. Daisy frowned at him and flipped open SHIELD's Codes & Regulations manual, the hard covers slapping against the stone of the bar. Her heart sank as she scanned the hefty pages before her. Coulson had an obligation to follow protocol.

* * *

 **CLASSIFIED – LEVEL 7**

 **OFFICIAL S.H.I.E.L.D PROTOCOL ON THE GIFTED INDEX**

Key:

Sci-Tech: Science and Technology Division

Op.: Operations Division

Comm.: Communications Division

 _AMENDED MARCH 2014 BY DIRECTOR PHIL COULSON UNDER THE INSTRUCTION OF [SCI-TECH] DR JEMMA SIMMONS AND (GIFTED) [OP./COMM.] AGENT DAISY JOHNSON_

 _INTRODUCED BY [OP.] AGENT PEGGY CARTER IN 1947 TO BE USED IN THE EVENT OF THE PRESENCE OF METAPHYSICAL ABILITIES FOR CLASSIFICATION AND NECESSARY PRECAUTIONS IF REQUIRED_

 **All suspected Gifted, Enhanced or 0-8-4 are to be investigated in utmost confidence. If this confidence were to be compromised, investigation is to be immediately aborted, and the subject with it if the specific ability or abilities have not been determined to be safe for the general public and/or under control. A probationary period may be introduced by the Director or Acting Commander in his absence to avoid termination, wherein the subject will be drafted into SHIELD as a member of a specialist multi-disciplinary team under the regular observation of the Director himself and appointed agents of Level 9 or above only. This satisfies the control clause of the SHIELD by-laws, except in the instance of double-blind observation. If such a breach of confidence were to occur, the position of the subject and those that are responsible or that can be traced to the incident are at the discretion of the Director. However, the Director must concede if the Board of Council's recommendations contradict that of their own.**

* * *

"So according to this book, it isn't even really up to us anymore, is it?" Daisy spoke, swallowing hard.

She was met with a grim expression as he adjusted his navy tie.

"May, put us on route to the Playground when Fitz is done fixing the plane. I need to see the Board of Council as soon as possible," he said solemnly into his mic.

Daisy's lower lip trembled with concern. _What have I done? s_ he thought glumly. Curiosity had killed the only cat that really mattered to her, and she was determined to get it back.

"We'll get this sorted out, Skye," Coulson promised her, slipping back to her chosen name. She looked up at him in surprise at the sound of the name she hadn't used in over a year. "I won't let him die."


	8. The Amber of The Moment

_**A/N: Chapter eight, oh my goodness. I've written about three chapters in the past day alone, and not even gonna lie, I'm pretty chuffed with myself right now. Although you'll be receiving them over a couple of weeks. Anyway, the show goes on. Coulson wants May, May wants Coulson, but neither can have the other because of what they do. Someone is a double agent trying to take down Team Bus from the inside. Daisy and Ward are on the rocks over what appears to be a misunderstanding, and FitzSimmons... Well, things are about to get very interesting. Stay tuned, dear viewers.**_

* * *

 _Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment._

 _There is no why._

\- Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

* * *

The sun beat down harshly on Fitz' skin, the heat simmering around him in a mirage as he wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow. Red-hot desert sand and gravel surrounded them for miles, and he'd been working on the plane's engines for the past hour. The emergency landing had taken a toll on the poor things. Taking up another, slightly smaller wrench than the one he held before, he worked intently on the seemingly endless array of bolts, wires and panels before him as Simmons watched him with her chin resting on her hands. Basking in the warmth of sunlight they'd been so long deprived of, she was content just to watch him work.

"I hate this," Fitz stated, accent thickening in the humidity of their environment.

"Hate's a strong word. What's up with you?" the British professor asked, concern marbling in the inflection of her question.

"Well, not the work, obviously. I love tinkering with stuff. It's this damn weather! It's riling me up, I tell ya. I feel like a fish out of water. A very dusty fish."

She grinned at the visual.

"Very dusty indeed. How's the backup engine coming along? Did you fix the front rotor?"

"Mhmm," he hummed brightly. "Took all of five minutes. Bless Fury and his open budget. It was no trouble at all to get that baby up and running again. Well... jogging. It was just a test anyway. Can't go around wasting power now, can I?"

Simmons nodded understandingly, stifling a little smile. "Phil should've listened to us. Sustainable power is the way of the future."

Their scientific banter was something sacred to them, something untouched by the success or the failure of a mission. Something beautiful. It was the glue that held them together. That and their actual job, of course. They wouldn't have met if it weren't for SHIELD.

"Are the quinjet's communication systems up and running yet?" Simmons asked him as he gestured towards a decent head-sized screwdriver, palm outstretched. She handed it to him without a second thought. He bit his lip subconsciously as he tightened the large bolts that fixed the panels to the plane's wing, wiry muscles in his arms flexing and rippling with effort. She'd be lying if the said she didn't enjoy the view.

"I don't know. We'll have to check with Daisy later. Do me a favour Jem, I'm dying for a sip of water. Can you grab me a glass from the kitchen?" he requested, never looking away from the equipment before him.

She left to get his drink wordlessly.

* * *

Twenty minutes passed and Simmons still hadn't returned. _Probably got distracted – I bet one of the girls down at the lab showed her cute animal photos again_ , he considered reverently. He loved a cute kitten picture as much as the next lad. Fitz imagined her walking gracefully through the Bus, one slender, perfectly-proportioned leg in front of the other in a perpetual dance he could never quite forget. He always did admire her floating gait.

Thirty minutes passed and she still hadn't returned. He switched on his mic with mild irritation.

"Miss Simmons, I hope I'm not interrupting your playtime but I did expect you back here after a little less than the half hour it's been," he chastised playfully. He could almost see her blushing in the silence now. Fitz rather did enjoy flustering her.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry dear, got caught up at the lab. Gina was showing me the _cutest_ pictures of her rabbit and I just couldn't resist. Coming your way now," she apologised, and cut the line.

Fitz smiled widely to himself. _Should I be jealous of a rabbit?_ he mused to himself. _Well technically, a picture of a rabbit._ It occurred to him what he had just thought, and he shook himself out of it violently, wondering what had gotten into him.

A muffled crunch sounded from behind him. He whipped around on instinct, gripping his screwdriver tightly in an aggressive stance. There was nothing there except empty desert surrounding the landing strip. _I must be hearing things_ , he rationalised. _This darned weather is making me mental._ Fitz shrugged nonchalantly to himself and swiftly returned his attention to putting the panel back.

He emitted a shriek of surprise as a hand covered his mouth and an evil-smelling handkerchief was shoved down his throat. Choking on the offending cloth, the pungent fumes prickled at his eyes as he struggled against the unknown assailant. He was vaguely aware of his watch slipping off his hand in the scuffle as he attempted to elbow his attacker somewhere, anywhere. His limbs became lethargic as the world spun around him for a moment, his head growing strangely light and heavy at the same time. Then everything went black.

* * *

"Fitz?" Simmons called absent-mindedly. The panel he'd been working on was still half-open, but her partner was nowhere to be seen. She could imagine a tumbleweed passing through the vicinity with how empty and eerily quiet it was.

"Fitz, if this is your idea of a freshman prank, come off it."

She was met with silence, a gentle breeze kicking up the dust at her feet as she squinted into the sunlight. _He can't have gone far_ , the young professor reasoned. _Where could he be?_ Simmons looked down at the distressed sand beneath her. If she didn't know better, she'd deduct that there was evidence of some kind of struggle. _Now, don't be dramatic, Jemma,_ she scolded herself. _I'm sure he simply popped off to the loo. He'll be back in no time_.

Then she saw his watch, lying still and broken against the gravel of the airstrip.

 _Oh no._

The thought had barely formed in her mind before a sharp pain pierced the side of her head, the sound of metal ringing as it clanged against bone. She fell to the ground with a shriek of pain in what felt like slow motion. Then there was only a vague awareness of being dragged across the ground by her feet before her world faded into darkness.

* * *

The first time she woke, Simmons immediately called out Fitz' name. Opening her eyes, she drank in her surroundings with alarm, clutching the side of her head with a groan. Surrounding her were the grimy silver walls of a prisoner transport vehicle. The irony of being a prisoner, considering her profession, was not lost on her. There were no windows or light source except for the dull flicker of a naked bulb swinging near her head. She could feel the bumping and undulating of the vehicle beneath her. _Uneven terrain_ , the scientist in her noted immediately. _Probably local. Must not be too far from the Bus-_

Her thought was cut off by a searing pain as she looked directly into the lightbulb. Despite its feeble glow, it triggered fire in the side of her brain. _Definitely photosensitive_ , she observed. _A concussion. I hate concussions_. _And so medically difficult to gauge the effects of, as well as being bloody painful._ She attempted to sit herself up and immediately winced, clutching her ribcage tenderly as she recalled the events leading to her current situation. Being dragged across sandy asphalt wasn't too gentle on the body, it seemed. The biochemist slumped back into the wall of the van, resigned to her position. She would just have to wait this one out.

Simmons woke again later, startling herself into consciousness. She hadn't realised she'd nodded off on the van, and her surroundings had changed once more. The pain in her head had subsided to a bearable but irritating throb of discomfort, but at least she was on solid ground. Very solid ground. Some kind of concrete hybrid, in fact. As she looked up, anxiety filled her gut with lead. She was surrounded in an elaborate cocoon of fluorescent lights, bulletproof glass and what looked like a laser security system. _Yep, I'm in a cell_ , she observed drily. _A very, very well-made glass box cell._ Beyond her holding area were shelves upon shelves of what looked like weapons storage, but she couldn't be sure as she squinted through the lights. The silhouette of a well-built man appeared at the end of the hallway, stark in its shadowy nature before her as a familiar voice echoed through the space.

"Hello Simmons," the man said, shoes clicking lightly against the stone floor as he slowly approached her cell.

The image of him became clearer and clearer with every step he took, until she saw the SHIELD badge pinned proudly to his lapel, and a HYDRA patch sewn onto the opposite side. Simmons shrieked in horror.

"Jesus Christ," she breathed, clenching her fists at her side defensively.

The shadow of the man chuckled, but she already knew who it was when he spoke again.

"I prefer Director Ward, but you can call me whatever you want."


	9. Iron and Gold

_**A/N: So, uh, I lied about Ward being a beautiful cinnamon roll, too pure for this world, etc. Enjoy chapter nine.**_

* * *

 _Cage an eagle and it will bite at the wires,_

 _be they of iron or of gold._

–- Henrik Ibsen, The Vikings of Helgeland

* * *

IRON

Fitz shocked himself into the world of the conscious with a sharp inhale, and was made immediately aware of an acute need to blow chunks. He twisted to his side as his retched messily over the dusty stone floor, the scent of digestive juices and chemical toxins mixing in the dry, sterile air. A groan left his lips as he observed the vile aftertaste of his capture in his mouth, a mild pressure squeezing his head in the form of a dulled migraine. _Chloroform_ , he thought bitterly. As he brought a hand across his mouth, he winced at the irritated skin there. _When_ _the team_ _comes to get me,_ _Daisy_ _better bring some of that Australian paw paw ointment_ , he snarked to himself lamely. Fitz pressed his lips into a harsh line as he contemplated his surroundings. He appeared to be in a glass containment unit of sorts. It seemed familiar somehow.

 _I've seen this somewhere. From the outside._

His eyes lit up as he put two and two together; he was in the Pentagon. Why was he in the Pentagon? _I'm not particularly dangerous_ , the dazed engineer thought to himself mildly. _Well, have they met me?_ _I failed all three years of field exams. I couldn't outrun a drunk baby hippo._ Fitz grinned as he opened his mouth, turning to where Simmons should be - by his side - in habit, before closing his mouth and sinking in disappointment. _She's not here_ , he told himself miserably. He was completely and utterly alone, and pretending otherwise was futile. Her absence tugged at his heart like a petulant child, demanding and unrelenting. They hadn't been apart since the Academy – not really. There was no one to laugh at his jokes. No one to smile at his very presence in a room. No one to rest their head on his shoulder, chestnut curls spilling across his collarbone. She wasn't there, and he hated it.

As his head began to clear of the swimming lights that had plagued it, Fitz further observed his holding area. A CCTV camera blinked at him from the upper right corner of the room, and before him he could vaguely make out a hallway of sorts, dark and elusive against the stark white of glaring fluorescent lights. _If I'm being watched, then someone must be watching_ , he observed. Lifting his hand with a grimace, he waved at the camera. It glowed red as he moved, back and forth and side to side. _A movement-sensing surveillance camera? Who do they think I am? Loki?_ The aching feeling from earlier tugged at his heart again. _Simmons would've liked that reference_ , he thought sadly. Fitz shook himself disapprovingly. _Right_ , _t_ _hat's enough moping for now,_ he resolved. _I've gotta figure this out on my own_. Fitz found himself losing his usually jovial sense of humour in the weight of his situation. He began formulating a mental checklist to help him deduce as much as he could about his current status. _Right. Okay._ _Last thing I remember?_ _Simmons. Simmons and I_ _fixing the plane – no,_ _me fixing the plane as she w_ _ent to get a drink._ _Bless her soul, she_ _has two PhD's but_ _c_ _a_ _n't tell the difference between a_ _monkey wrench and a bottle opener._ He shook himself again. _Enough about her._ _I'm putting the panel back in, wondering where she is, so I radio her and..._ _nasty-smelling_ _cloth goes down my throat, and here I am._ _Great. Just great._ He turned around and rested his hands on the rear wall as his heart sank further into his gut, contemplating his predicament.

"You're awake," a voice spoke from above him.

He immediately whipped around to meet the source of the voice.

"Oh, you son of a-"

"Good to see you too, Fitz."

 _It can't be_. _Not him. Never him. He's a friend, he's..._

Ward stepped into the light cast by the box, crossing his arms with a smug grin. The engineer found himself staring, mouth hanging open in disbelief. _The pesticide_ , he recalled frightfully. _Mack, the missile... it was all him_. _Ward did this_.

Fitz refused to be bested any further by the traitor above him, and did not give the man the privilege of his obedient silence.

"Where's Simmons?" he demanded, fighting the slight waver in his voice as he said her name.

"Perfectly fine. A few scrapes and bruises here and there, but fine. I'm holding her in SHIELD's favourite facility. She'll be safe. Nothing gets in... and nothing gets out," Ward drawled slowly. Anger simmered through Fitz' veins as he watched the man scrape blood from under his fingernails in an extravagant display of boredom.

"How could you, Ward?" the engineer accused. "This whole time, all those missions – did we mean nothing to you? Why are you doing this?"

Ward grinned nastily in response. Baring his teeth in a malevolent smile, the man stepped back to reveal the skull of the Hydra insignia.

"You're a smart man, Agent Fitz. Haven't you figured out what we're going to do with a brain like yours?"

Fitz glared at him in stony silence, but the hardened agent before him only chuckled before continuing.

"Welcome to your new home."

* * *

GOLD

As the hours passed in Simmons' small cell, no one came. The only sign she hadn't been abandoned by humanity was the CCTV camera beeping quietly at her from the corner every time she moved. _Who watches these things, anyway?_ she wondered. _I'm not particularly dangerous. I failed nearly every field exam at the Academy and can't shoot from two feet away._ She grinned to herself and opened her mouth, turning to where Fitz should be – by her side – in habit, before closing her mouth and sinking in disappointment. _He's not here_ , she told herself miserably. _But I can feel him with me. A part of me._ The scientist tossed back and forth on the stone floor, trying to get comfortable. _Fitz would be figuring a way out by now. Bloody genius he is. A noble gas of a human being, constantly rising above any challenge in his_ _molecular orbit._ She found herself sighing pitifully, curling up further into a foetal position. _Where are you now, Fitz_? she asked to no one in particular.

Simmons tugged at her lip with her teeth, anxiety thrumming through her blood like woodpeckers, tapping at her conscious relentlessly. She was alone, and boy, could she feel it. _Aye, there's the rub,_ she mused to herself. _I got clubbed in the side of the head and dragged across a landing strip, and yet the most painful thing about being here is being_ _left_ _alone._ The young professor rolled over to lay on her back, vertebrae pressed against the soothing cold of the stone floor, dust swirling in a perpetual dance around her. _Humans are strange. Take away our limbs with disease, and we replace them with prosthetics._ _But take away our loved ones, and we wither away to dust._

"Ah, there you are."

The timbre of Ward's voice bounced off every surface in the room, reverbrating menacingly in the sterile air.

"Where else would I be?" Simmons snapped back without missing a beat.

He gave her a stern look.

"Now, I bet you're wondering where you darling Fitz is. It would be a shame if you were to get sassy with me and I decided I didn't need his services anymore."

"Where did you put him?" she asked angrily, a tone of hurt colouring her voice.

"Oh, in the Pentagon, where they used to hold Magneto. But you're not seeing him until I say you can," Ward told her with a smirk on his face.

Hatred boiled in her blood, but she nodded once.

"Where... am I, exactly?" Simmons asked, more timid this time.

"Why, you're in the SHIELD helicarrier. I thought you'd recognise it. Oh wait... you never did get past Level Six, did you? In fact, I remember you telling me that you're a Level Five. A pity, really. Wasting your talents like that. And speaking of which... I really could use your talents around here," he replied, inching ever closer to the glass between them. "Hydra lost a lot of men in the last raid," Ward added softly. "Men I had to shoot for your cause. Well, not yours anymore. You work for Hydra now."

She sat for a moment and thought it over.

"I don't suppose I have a choice, do I?"

"Atta girl."


	10. Correlations

_**A/N: Hot damn, people. Welcome to Chapter 10.**_

* * *

 _The most merciful thing in the world, I think,_

 _is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents._

–-Gabriel Garcia Marquez, _One Hundred Years of Solitude_

* * *

"It's been damn near six hours, where's FitzSimmons? The sun's going down and I need the cloaking back up," May demanded through the comms. She was met with silence from the team.

"Well?"

"I was with Jemma a little while ago. Seemed like Fitz was nearly done, though. I'll go check on them," Daisy replied, the sound of her signing off clicking through the line as she left the living room where the rest of the team lounged.

Mack shuffled feebly towards them as she left, gesturing for Bobbi to move over.

"Mate, s'good to see you again. How's the old brain?" Hunter greeted him, smiling widely.

The swarthy agent waved a hand in dismissal. "The stroke left me with a bit of a limp, but I'm otherwise okay. Jemma's got me on all kinds of meds I can't even pronounce. But I wouldn't worry about me, guys. I'm in safe hands."

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, Hunter idly fanning himself with a Syrian newspaper. "Where is that bastard?" the British man mumbled to himself.

"Which one?" Bobbi asked playfully.

"Hilarious," Hunter replied sarcastically. "Ward. Haven't seen him in a bit."

She nodded in agreement. "I thought he was at the Pentagon handling some amateur break-in this morning? He should be back by now."

"Hmm, yeah. Maybe he snuck off with FitzSimmons on a little holiday," Hunter quipped cheerfully.

"Uh-huh. Ward. Third-wheeling those two lovebirds? I don't think so."

"You never know with him. He did jump out of the bloody plane for Simmons that one time."

"Life-saving aside, I don't think he'd be all that into being the proverbial sore thumb unless he had to. I think I heard Jemma refer to Fitz as 'bae' once. What does that even mean? Those kids..."

"Never understood those two either. Fitz seems like an alright lad, but I don't think I've ever seen Jemma at the dinner table. You'd think she brought the British manners with her. I know she brought our tea addiction," he added with mock venom, glancing towards the pile of empty tea boxes.

"Oh come on, it's just flavouring anyway."

"Excuse you, Miss America, but we use actual tea leaves in England."

"Whatever, you snob," she shot back with a grin.

Bobbi squealed as Hunter brought her into a playful headlock until she twisted his arm and demanded he let go. Mack rolled his eyes at them on the other side of the sofa, bringing an arm over his eyes in the hopes of taking a nap. They were jolted out of their reverie by panicked rapping of a fist against the window beside them.

"Guys, get over here!" Daisy hollered through the glass with a dire expression, gesturing towards the wing of the plane.

The three of them exchanged worried looks and bolted through the side exit, wind whipping viciously at their clothes when they stepped outside.

"Oh hell no," Mack said in denial, boots crunching against the gravel as he picked up Fitz' broken watch with a grim expression. Sand flew around them, stinging at their faces as they squinted into the sun.

Fitz and Simmons were nowhere to be seen.

* * *

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Daisy chanted in alarm. "Someone took them. They're probably getting interrogated and poked and prodded and... _tortured_ -"

"We can't jump to conclusions," Mack interjected calmly. "We don't know where they are or if they chose to leave. It's not the first time this kind of thing has happened in SHIELD."

He crossed his arms in a businesslike manner, and licked his lips before continuing gravely. "Some people can't handle the heat."

They all stood in silence, processing the situation with solemn expressions.

"But it's not like either of them to just leave," Bobbi cut in pointedly, adjusting the lapels of her leather jacket with a measure of discomfort. "I don't think Jemma's ever gone to the bathroom without telling someone first."

"Yeah, you're right," Hunter agreed fervently. "FitzSimmons are way too clever to try to run away. They're the ones who designed the tracker implants in the arms of every SHIELD agent since twenty-thirteen. It explodes if you don't remove it a certain way, and takes your bloody arm off with it. So unless there's a magical off button you can hit without triggering the device - just so they could make a run for it - my guess is they've been taken. No bones about it."

"So why aren't we tracking them right now?" Daisy demanded irritably.

"We need to figure out who we're dealing with before we can even set foot inside wherever they are. Unless you'd like to earthquake our way in," Bobbi reminded her drily.

"Who would take them anyway?" the hacker deflected, concern exacerbating the fine lines across her forehead.

Sighing, Bobbi poured her a glass of scotch and handed it to her wordlessly. The young hacker had a tendency to get more emotionally involved with people than necessary.

Especially Ward.

 _Oh shit_.

"Guys, don't you think it's a little weird, _convenient_ even, that Ward leaves on a confidential assignment at the exact same time FitzSimmons goes missing? An assignment that, according to the by-laws, we aren't allowed to trace until extraction?" Bobbi told them, raising her eyebrows to encourage them to catch on.

"You're not saying..." Hunter trailed off, nerves bringing a slight waver to his voice.

Bobbi looked at Daisy nervously, knowing full well what the weight of the allegations meant, specifically to her. The younger agent stood stock-still and completely expressionless as the remainder of the team stared at her. She looked like someone in mourning.

Mack clenched and unclenched his jaw, deep in thought. "Well, _someone_ was responsible for poisoning me, and it sure as hell wasn't any of you guys. None of us have clearance to medical records and even Tremors over here can't get through security without authorisation."

"You think them disappearing is connected to your incident," Daisy realised. "And did I ever tell you how goddamn sorry I am for not scanning everything like three hundred times before that stupid prank-"

"Only about five times since it happened. Anyway, I checked the access records to SHIELD databases and guess who was given authorisation to access medicals last week? One Mister Grant Douglas Ward. Bobbi's right - it fits. Someone has a vendetta against the team and no one here has the motivation to pull something like this. In addition, we've all been on the plane together this whole time, except Ward and the other two. So it's either Ward is working for someone else, or FitzSimmons orchestrated this with him, which I personally doubt. Look..." he trailed off, a fearful glaze cast over his eyes. "We've lost agents before. Really, really good agents, who could never really be replaced. But SciTech are the heart and soul of SHIELD – not even Communications could survive without them. If Ward took them, he wants us all gone. When FitzSimmons aren't here, who's going to fix the Bus if we take a hit? Who's going to run surveillance while we're in action? Whoever wanted them knows what they're doing, and they chose Ward to run it for them."

"So we'll track him down," Hunter suggested, a certain kind of darkness burning in his eyes.

Daisy nodded vigorously in agreement. "We're going to find him, and then we'll find FitzSimmons. But after that, Ward is _mine_."

A shiver ran down their spines at the sound of her voice, rasping and manic with a quiet rage they'd never seen in her before.

"Jesus, Daisy, slow down for a tick," Hunter soothed, raising his hands like a man calming a lioness. "The man needs to suffer, that's for sure, but clearly he knows something we don't. Someone wants them or they wouldn't be gone. No one-man team could pull off something like that. Not even Ward. I've never been one for plans... but it's starting to sound like we need one."

The sound of May's steel-capped boots clicking against the floor filled the room, and they all turned to her expectantly. She'd been listening to the whole conversation through the comms without saying a word, and now it was her turn to speak.

"So what are we waiting for?" May began calmly. "Get tracking."


	11. Pain

_**A/N: Welcome to chapter eleven! Things are getting dire for FitzSimmons, and the team don't even know where to start trying to help them. I'm also going to take this opportunity to declare my undying love for The Assassin's Son here on ffnet for steering my writing in the direction it needs to go, and the one responsible for the point of view this is written in (third person limited). I am forever in debt to his mastery. (Are you happy now, you muppet? :P)**_

* * *

 _If pain must come, may it come quickly._

 _Because I have a life to live, and I need to live it in the best way possible._

 _If he has to make a choice, may he make it now._

 _Then I will either wait for him or forget him._

 **–** **-** Paulo Coelho, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept

* * *

It had been two days since he was captured by Hydra. Or it least it felt like two days. He hadn't seen the sun since then, so he could only assume based on the pattern of his feeding times. Three times a day, a burly-looking guard waltzed into his vicinity and shoved a chunk of stale bread and a slice of slightly moldy ham with a glass of unfiltered water through the flap. Fitz had never felt more disadvantaged by the privileges they had on the Bus. In his cell in the Pentagon, there was no reverse osmosis filtration system. There was no Tchaikovsky through surround sound to help him work. There was no Simmons. All he had was the tracker in his arm, which he desperately hoped had not been affected by the presence of chloroform in his bloodstream. The engineer gave up trying to refuse his only source of sustainance after the first twenty-four hours.

 _That's a good scientist_ , the guard had sneered at him. _You're nothing but a bloody animal in here. No one cares about your flashy university degrees. You'll take what we give you, and you'll say 'please' and 'thank you'._

It hit him much harder than he wanted it to. Science was a part of his identity – heck, it was his identity. Fitz lived and breathed it like air. No longer could he wake up with a self-deprecating grin to the sound of Daniel Radcliffe rapping the periodic table. No longer could he make himself and Simmons the strongest cup of tea available and spend the morning flipping through Quora and ScienceDaily, her chattering away by his side as she made them breakfast. It was curious, this forced disassociation from that side of his personality. It was doing things to him. Which, as it were, was much better than what they were doing to Simmons.

* * *

You didn't have to be a rocket scientist like Fitz to know that he was her weakness. He was her Achilles tendon, her tender spot that when pressed too hard, would force her to do unspeakable things. She found herself angry for caring so much. _Love makes you weak_ , May's voice echoed in her mind. _Love makes you a liability._

Then her own voice took over, bouncing around her head. _You don't love him, you like him. He's been your friend for over ten years. It's simple biochemistry. A mating instinct. That's all it is, Jemma. It's a passing fancy, the result of hormones and human evolution. Stop it. Just stop it!_ She pressed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets in frustration, forcing herself to take a deep breath as she observed the phosphenes behind her increasingly transparent lids, swollen with sleepless nights in Fitz's absence. At least she could carry science with her, whole textbooks' worth of information reeling through her head like a conveyor belt. But her partner's presence could not be simulated. Even her dreams didn't feel the same. And the feminist inside her was livid, disapproving of this codependent behaviour. _You don't even know who you are without him. Pitiful._ But then a decidedly more positive thought crossed her mind, and she snatched at it viciously. _You have time now_ , she told herself. _If you don't know now, you can figure it out later. This is an opportunity to do something with yourself. To shed the labels on you – scientist, woman, Fitz's partner – like a snake in the spring. This is your chance to decide what defines you, Jemma._ Tears prickled at her eyes at that moment, immense pride welling up in her chest. Her mother would have been so proud of her; in captivity, all alone, and finding it within herself to keep moving forward. _Whatever happens to me in here, I'll be ready_ , she reassured herself, running a hand over her arm where the tracker was embedded.

* * *

The chip in their arms gave Fitz all of a day's worth of hope before a screen was wheeled before him, and the deadly still image of Simmons bound to a medical cot stuttered to life.

"I won't ask you again, Miss Simmons. Tell us where Coulson is or Tallis here will ensure you never see your right hand again."

He watched in silent horror as she bit down on her bottom lip hard, heat pooling to the site of irritation. It was all she could do to keep herself from trembling as blood flowed from the cuts they'd made on her arms, pooling by her feet. Anaemia ran in her family. She'd pass out soon if she wasn't careful.

"I said, I don't know," Simmons repeated, calm as clear waters. "Fitz and I are the brains of the team – Coulson only tells us what we need to know, when we need to know it. The Operations division handles all that. I thought Ward would have told you that. You know, from his first-hand experience."

She didn't even bother concealing the bitterness in her tone. A part of her wanted to spit in his face, and it took a great deal of self-restraint in order not to. The well-built man named Tallis ripped the plug from his razor-sharp circular saw in frustration and turned to his boss.

"Sir, she clearly knows nothing-"

"She's lying. I didn't think they trained them for that in their Academy, but it sure looks like it. I know they're both closer to Coulson than that. Always at his right hand side like some kind of self-important teacher's pets," Ward spat, his face contorted with jealousy and rage.

"If I didn't know any better, Ward, I'd say you sounded a little salty," Simmons snarked, lifting her chin defiantly.

Ward nodded at Tallis, and she heard a crack at the side of her head, the world spinning for a moment as pain seared through across her eyes like lightning. Blood began to trickle, warm and viscous, down the side of her face. Blinking furiously, Simmons glared at her captor with daggers for eyes.

"You think you can just sit there and insult me all day?" the director of Hydra growled furiously. "You think you can do whatever you want in here? You can't do _shit_ , Simmons. No one's coming to save you."

"You don't know that," she hissed defensively.

Her eyes raked over where the tracker was embedded, mind ticking over despite the pain. _You don't know what I know. And you never will._

A memory of Daisy's voice echoed around her mind as she reflected on her friend's words on their recent assignment. _Do you know what I can do?_ the agent had threatened, perfect curls billowing in the wind. What could _Simmons_ do? She couldn't trigger earthquakes with a twitch of her fingertips. She studied them. The youngest professor to ever graduate from the Academy couldn't render a man unconscious with three quick strikes in thirty seconds. She recorded the recovery process from the medical bay. That was all she ever did. Observe, acknowledge, and pick up the pieces.

Suddenly she didn't feel so optimistic.


	12. Monster and Man

**_A/N: Welcome to chapter twelve everyone!_** ** _Big thanks to my American readers for always supporting my work – not to mention being my number one largest viewership base! There's so many of you!_** ** _Here we check in on Team Bus minus FitzSimmons. Thanks again for all the support, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter :)_**

* * *

 _I am a monster_

 _but gentler than man_

 _still guessing at when_

 _the horror began_

 _You are a Lily_

 _destroying decay_

 _but monster and man_

 _see flowers the same way_

\- Sean McDermott

* * *

"It's been twenty minutes. Why haven't we found anything?" May asked anxiously through the comms. Not being able to participate in the digital hunt for Fitz and Simmons from the cockpit was putting her on edge.

"The son of a bitch known as Ward left us a few bugs in the system. Didn't even bother removing the traces. And now I can't do anything useful until this patch is done. Until then, we gotta sit tight," Daisy replied grimly, blowing a strand of her off her face with a despondent huff as she resumed the flurry of viciously hitting keys at her laptop.

"I just can't handle this right now," Hunter groaned from the couch. "Mostly I can't handle the fact that he took them and got out alive. Unbelievable."

"You'll have plenty of time to stew his brains when we find him," Mack responded earnestly.

"Oh trust me, I will spend the time it takes to find them scheming up a hundred different and creative ways to make his imminent death a bloody spectacle," the British ex-mercenary growled.

Mack shrugged, enthusiastically shovelling several spoonfuls of macaroni and cheese into his mouth all at once. _That's Hunter in his element_ , the agent mused to himself. _Completely over-zealous, completely reckless and completely loveable_.

"I know _I_ sure as hell hope we do," Bobbi added quietly, adding to the buzzing tension of nerves in the air between them all.

She frowned in concern at Mack as he wolfed down his dinner, but decisively relented. Now was not the time to scold the man about proper digestion. At this stage, all they could do was wait.

* * *

Daisy hunched determinedly over the glare of her monitor as it pierced the solemn dimness of the common area, shoving her trendy hipster-chic glasses back up her nose with a measure of aggression as they slid down every few minutes or so.

"Uh, guys?" the agent called nervously from her position in front of her laptop.

Her team looked over in synchronisation and observed the state she was in with matching grim expressions. Daisy was an utter mess over the abduction of Fitz and Simmons; she had not slept in more than twenty-four hours, tears of frustration had streaked her makeup, and overall she looked rather in need of a hairbrush and a measure of gentle reassurance that it was going to be okay.

"I, uh – I found something. It's bad. It's... so intensely bad that I'm not sure I really believe it," she continued. The fatigue and stress had robbed her of her eloquence and replaced it with a rasping croak for a voice,.

"Go on, then," Hunter encouraged, anxiety drumming like a ritual through his blood.

"I spent the last six hours combing through forums, chat rooms and hashtags moderated by the Rising Tide, and Ward's name is mentioned in the new beta version of Hydra's unofficial manifesto eleven times. He's not just in Hydra – he's _running_ it."

Bobbi inhaled sharply through her nose in shock, grabbing instinctually for Hunter's hand. It wasn't a non-verbal request to be protected – that was not really her style – rather, it was a shared understanding that they would protect each other. That mutual respect was the foundation of their reputably unstable but deeply loving relationship. And that was the strength which she drew upon now as she processed the new information.

"So, knowing Hydra and their backstabbing-evil-mastermind ways, he's going to die whether we get to him or they get to him. If we're able to get FitzSimmons out-"

" _When_ we get them out," Mack cut her off cooly.

"Right, _when_ ," Bobbi corrected herself. Her airy, uncertain tone suggested otherwise, and everyone in the Bus knew it.

"Team, this is my last check-in before I go dark. I have business to attend to in Tahiti," Coulson informed them through the comms from his office.

"Wait, T.A.H.I.T.I or, like, actual Tahiti?" Mack asked.

"Actual Tahiti. There's some... unresolved business involving the Index that I need to sort out."

Daisy froze for a moment at her laptop. _He's meeting the Board of Council. Someone's going to decide whether Ward lives or dies in the next seventy-two hours_ , she worried to herself. It was definitely odd for her, to have such a strong attachment to anyone at all, let alone someone who had betrayed her so immensely on both a professional and a personal level – and had done it with the least amount of empathy possible. Sometimes she still thought of him as a robot. _The T-1000_ , Daisy mused to herself, before shaking the sardonic smile off her face and resuming the line of code she had been working on.

* * *

"Can you find anything on what they might be doing to them?" Hunter enquired, nerves bristling through his voice like the spines of an echidna.

She nodded slowly, raising a tired hand to rub her smudged eyes. "I'll take a look. Can't promise much, though. These are public forums. I got nothing substantial until I can crack some private channels and get on the inside."

"Damn," Mack responded heavily. "Man, I hate this. Sitting here like ducks in a pond, waiting to get shot out of the water one by one. We underestimated Hydra."

"That has made itself abundantly clear in the last twenty-four hours," May interjected drily through the comms.

Tense silence fell upon the cabin and they retreated to their respective living quarters, each wondering about how Fitz and Simmons were coping. If they were hurt, or escaped and running. Or even worse, if they wanted to be there. Fitz always said he had felt insignificant in Operations assignments anyway. And Simmons would be the voice of reason, telling him it wasn't their division and 'not to worry, Fitzy.' God, how Daisy missed her. She sat down cross-legged in the middle of her bunk, supporting her chin with a delicate hand as she contemplated the situation. _If they had gone by choice, it wasn't so bad, right? If they wanted to be found, we'd have found something by now. We can't give up hope_ , Daisy told herself firmly. _They're both out there, and they need us. At least... I want them to._ If it made her selfish for wanting her friends back, then so be it. Hydra was not to be trusted. _But can SHIELD be trusted either?_ she wondered grimly. _That was the last time I leave extraction to Agent Hand, the sadist... But anyway, that is one hell of a thought. Hydra is public and SHIELD is operating privately, but that might be the only difference these days_. She let her head fall to hit the pillow with a soft thud, mahogany curls splaying to either side of her face, fanning out like a lion's mane. _I can't let myself think these things. I can't question my place here now. It's too important. It's too close to home. I can't afford to have second thoughts._ Daisy found herself tossing and turning on her bunk like a sailor in a storm as she became increasingly restless but increasingly tired. With a frustrated grunt, she set several tags on social media to 'tracked' on her phone and tucked herself in. _Just give it another few days_ , Daisy reassured herself. _Fitz and Simmons are out there, somewhere. And we're gonna find them if it's the last thing we do._


	13. Our House Is On Fire

**_A/N: Welcome, dear readers, to chapter thirteen._** ** _Welcome to hella symbolism, welcome to foreshadowing and most importantly – welcome to the rolling dunes of the proverbial Bahrain I promised in the summary. As you would think, Fitz and Simmons as highly intellectual beings would do a lot of mental processing during their time in captivity, so here's to a whole bottle chapter in the style of 4, 722 Hours dedicated to the unravelling of the captive mind. It's a long one, so grab a cuppa and buckle in for the ride._** ** _I love you all so much, and thank you for being on this dramatic, deeply psychological and thoroughly exhausting – but rewarding - journey with me._**

* * *

 _We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call;_

 _no way out,_

 _just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us_

 _trapped, locked in it._

–- Tennessee Williams, The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore

* * *

A grinding shriek echoed around Fitz's cell as he struggled for the hundredth time against the steel constraints that were rubbing his well-trained engineer's wrists raw. He'd stopped counting the days since he'd been separated from Simmons and her absence was everywhere. It was eating him from the inside when the first food tray arrived, the harsh crashing open and shut of the food chute always tearing him from a fitful sleep. She burned through his mind at all hours of the day, and frosted over his thoughts at night. He would often find himself imagining her there, smiling up at him, or with her brow set in determination when they were debating a new theory – but she was always fading away from him. At the close of all these intermittent fantasies he would envision her as she was stolen away violently, blood weeping from her temple, or however Ward took her from him. It didn't matter. Her image was already fading from his memory.

It wasn't even like they hadn't discussed the possibility of getting separated in the field before. _It'll be hard at first, but I reckon we'll get through it_ , she'd said. _It'll be like moving away - just like we did to attend the Academy. You'll be homesick for a short while... and then you'll never want to leave_. Fitz had asked her what she meant by that – the analogy didn't really seem to fit – but she just shook her head and smiled at him. Simmons always seemed to understand people in a way that couldn't be taught in any of the Psychology elective units she took in university. It took him years to understand that sometimes people have to lie to themselves in order to cope with something. Stockholm syndrome, but with nobody to attach yourself to – instead, an enduring illusion of your own circumstances. To lie to yourself was the greatest lie of all, and to do so said more about what you'd been through than any police statement could.

He leaned back against the icy layers of glass between him and freedom, and began to wonder if it was the only thing separating him from his old life. The captive scientist brought to mind a quote from a book he'd devoured at Simmon's recommendation – _1Q84_ by Haruki Murakami. He was never one for science fiction or the metaphysical – having gone halfway down the path of an rocket scientist, it wasn't exactly in his job description - but Murakami understood things about the world that all the physics and chemistry available could never teach him. Things that Simmons, too, understood.

 _'What did it mean for a person to be free? she would often ask herself. Even if you managed to escape from one cage, weren't you just in another, larger one?'_

On the surface, it sounded like the character, Aomame, had athoroughly pessimistic view of the world. From memory, she basically did. Not that Fitz would know anything about pessimism or nihilism or the spectrum of ideologies – that was always Simmon's curiosity – but if there was something he learned in the deathly boring English classes when he was in mainstream schooling, it was that the cage Aomame was referring to was not the world. She was talking about the cage of the mind. _Is this my cage?_ Fitz contemplated. A _m I lying helpless in this... this inaction, this nothing, trying to Stockholm myself into feeling alright again?_ He'd spent the entirety of his captivity so far deliberately pondering things he'd never thought about before, somewhere between angst over Simmons and procrastinating the reality of his own predicament by trying to convince himself that it wasn't so bad here. He hadn't even thought about how he might escape. _Would you look at that_ , he mused drily. _Me, the dumb engineer, being all mindful and self-aware._

 _There is no way out of here._

Every corner of the room had been freshly welded shut behind him, or so Tallis had gloated. _The perfect prison for a perfect mind_ , the chunk of muscle and sinew had told him. Clearly all of Ward's cronies shared his flair for the dramatic. His mind felt far from perfect. Everyday he found himself lagging ever so slightly just trying to string the words together because of what Ward had done to him and Simmons at the bottom of the ocean. Although it should be said that self-consciousness played a big part in his struggles with communication, he felt all too aware of the gaps and bad connections in his neurons, starved of oxygen beyond redemption. Above all of this, he felt fragile. Painfully so. The glass cage he was confined by was quite literally more durable than him. _You can wear Kevlar, but no one can bulletproof the mind_ , he realised miserably. Where was Ward anyway? What kind of game was he playing? Hydra had already captured the flags – him and Simmons. He'd already told Fitz about his intentions of making him work for Hydra. So where was the actual work? The lone engineer collapsed against the floor, curling into the foetal position slowly. The awful screen showing Simmons' torture had been rolled away a long time ago, but he was still hurting.

 _I wonder where you are now, Jemma. I wonder if you're okay._

* * *

His eyes shot up at the sound of the roof sliding back into its panels, revealing Ward grinning down at him in the darkness of the room outside his prison, teeth glinting menacingly. Fitz pulled himself up against the wall and stood up to greet him, eyes ablaze.

"Finally come to put me to work?" the captive engineer challenged.

"Absolutely," Ward replied seriously, before breaking into the same menacing grin. "And we're picking up a little present along the way for your... co-operation... during the show."

"The – the show? You tortured Simmons, you psychopathic _fu_ -"

"Do you want to see her or not?"

He clamped his mouth shut immediately, resorting to boring holes in the floor with his gaze as a bulky Latino man in a Hydra uniform lasered the cuffs from his wrists and dragged him onto a construction site lifting platform. Fitz grunted as he was shoved roughly onto the floor above his cell, cold air streaming in through a window and biting at his bloodshot eyes. _Freedom stings more than I thought it would_ , he joked feebly to himself.

"She's waiting for you," Ward told him, pulling his entire body off the ground effortlessly with one hand. As Fitz stumbled through the doorway, the last remaining head of Hydra mumbled to himself quietly.

"She'll always be waiting for you."

* * *

Dr Simmons trembled with cold against the stone floor of her cell, eyes partially shut against the cutting white light. Emptiness sat heavy in her gut as she pulled herself into an upright position, pregnant with the weight of the pain she'd experienced. The blood from her wounds had congealed to her body and clung to her like unshakeable demons, choking her skin. It felt like death had trampled over her and left her to rot in a ditch on the roadside, her mind and body decaying inch by inch. _Stay positive, Jemma_ , she told herself, but she hardly believed the words. _It's just... it's just a bit of pain. Well, a lot of pain. Merely a basic physiological reaction in which my neurons are firing due to the exponential rise in cortisol I am experiencing in a stressful environment._ Simmons winced loudly, every stiff joint and burning cut on her body protesting as she pressed her spine against the cold glass for support. _But you're alive, and the bleeding's stopped. And you're going to figure a way out of this. Somehow._ Simmons thought for a moment, contemplating the options that didn't involve getting herself killed in the process. Then, she had an idea.

 _You can be useful to Ward._

The imprisoned scientist cringed hard at that last thought. _Make yourself useful here. Stay alive._ Her lips curved bitterly into a sardonic grin. _Then stab that bastard in his sleep._ Vitriol roiled through her entire being like a hurricane as she studied the menagerie of risen cuts and bruises, marring her skin beneath the tattered camisole she'd been wearing beneath her pristine dress shirt. A twisted reflection of the wounds to her mind. _When did I become so consumed with bloodlust?_ she asked herself, winding the chains that weighed her to the ground around her wrist absent-mindedly.

 _When Tallis carved it into you._

Simmons shuddered against herself as she considered her own destructive state of mind. _I'm afraid I'm not myself in here_ , she thought fearfully, reflecting on the violent fantasies she'd been having since she arrived.

 _But I'm afraid that maybe I finally am._

Her stream of thought was interrupted by the echoing of footsteps through the corridor to her glass cage. Listening carefully, she distinguished two pairs of footsteps making their way towards her. One pair of combat boots, one pair of well-worn trainers that had been modified to grip the Bus' lab floor.

"Fitz!" she called hopefully, eyes lighting up as she made out his lean silhouette against the white light of the corridor.

He broke into a run as Ward pressed a button to open the door, nearly tripping over as he got closer and closer before enveloping her in his arms. Simmons inhaled his familiar scent deeply, exhaling with a sigh.

"It's so good to see you," he whispered to her reverently.

"You too, monkey," she replied, affection and joy dancing in her eyes.

Emotions swirled within them dervish-like, overwhelmingly strong, pulling them together and emphasising how apart they'd been. They were changed people, and it showed in their eyes.

"You look terrible," Fitz said with concern, and later cringed at the connotations of his words. "No, wait, I meant-"

"We both look like we were stranded at sea for three days and dragged ashore by Old World primates."

"Something to that effect."

A tiny smile spread across Simmons face upon the return of their sacred interactions. It was fitting that they found a way to inject humour into the situation that had led both to become utterly shipwrecked, physically, mentally and even spiritually. And yet, they found themselves not daring to spark so much as a glimmer of hope, because everything had only just begun.

"I'd say get a room, but it would appear that you're already in one," Ward joked darkly. "That's enough for now. I need you both to do something."

FitzSimmons shared a look and shifted uneasily on the spot. They had only just been reunited, and already he was taking that away from them. The man lacked even the smallest amount of mercy.

"Those trackers in your arms? We're gonna cut them out. Actually, you're gonna cut them out of each other's arms. You have twenty-four hours."

Tallis entered the room briskly with a steel tray of medical equipment, setting it down on the floor beside them.

"Happy surgery," he rasped, revealing several rotten teeth as he grinned horribly.

* * *

Fitz swallowed hard as Ward turned on his heel and left with the guard.

"How about that, eh? He's gone," he said shakily, turning to face her with a grimace as he searched for the words to say. "So, how's it been? I mean, are you... okay?"

Fitz cringed hard at his own poor choice of wording for the context.

"No amount of distraction in the world is going to change the situation, Fitz," she replied with a stony expression.

"You're not actually thinking of cutting it out, are you? The team is probably using that to find us, and – and... you've lost enough blood as it is."

"And I'm due to lose more if we don't. The team has enough to handle after the missile anyway. We have a duty to this country as well as SHIELD to look after ourselves, you know."

"He can't – he won't-"

"Did you hear what I said, Fitz? We raided his most heavily populated base and killed a third of his men doing it. Then he sent a _missile_ after us. Do you honestly think he'll stop to let us join in team SHIELD again?"

"He doesn't have to," he growled dangerously. "He's weak."

"You're underestimating him."

"You're letting him _win_!"

"Can't you see what he did to me?" Simmons demanded, thrusting her heavily scarred and burned arms under his nose. "Can't you see what he can do?"

"I-"

"He has no qualms about slicing me open _for sport_! What do you think he'll do if he knows the team could track us at any time?"

"I know-"

"Do you really?" she shrieked tearfully, waving her hands in exasperation. "Do you have _any_ idea what I have been through the past however bloody long I've been here-"

"Jemma..."

"-without you!"

"Jemma, I know. I saw the whole damn thing!" Fitz cried in distress.

She fell silent for a moment, bringing a quivering hand to the back of her head to pull at the matted hair there in frustration.

"Ward, he... One day he brought in a screen, and he made me watch Tallis torture you. Didn't even ask me anything, just made me watch him cut you open. Over and over again," he choked, tears prickling the back of his eyes.

She exhaled deeply and brought a hand to the nape of his neck as he drew closer, her fingers sliding back and forth across the skin there to comfort him as she met his haunted gaze.

"Fitz, I... God, I'm sorry for lashing out at you. This whole situation is very complex, and I can't fathom a way out of it without hurting someone I care about. If we cut out the trackers, they'll never find this place and Ward will hurt us anyway. If we don't cut out the trackers, he'll still be able to find the team and hurt them instead. But – but if we do, we can still find a way to play along. Show remorse for the raid on that naval base. Get him to trust us again. We'll bide our time and get out of here when he's least expecting."

The engineer considered her words for a moment.

"And then what?" he asked. "What happens after we get out of here and the team has no way of finding us? We'll have nowhere to go."

"Then... Then we'll just have to start a new life. Maybe – maybe this is what we need."

Fitz gave her a strange look. He wasn't really feeling the same desperate positivity, but he listened anyway as she continued fervently.

"Hell, we can get jobs just about anywhere with our credentials – just think about it. We could move to Perthshire and... and we could do whatever we want there."

Something tugged at his heart as he imagined it. Rolling green hills, a charming cottage... a family.

"Anything?"

"Anything you could dream of, darling. But we have to get out of here first."

"And I'll have to - you know - to your arm..."

"We can do this, Fitz. You can do this," Simmons reassured him, stroking a hand against his stubbled cheek. He held her hand there sadly.

"I don't want to hurt you, Jemma. You've been through so much already."

She smiled at him gently, before turning away to wipe down a scalpel and forceps with antiseptic and handing them to him.

"I can't do this on my own," Simmons told him. "Someone needs to pull it out for me. And besides, it's only a little blood."

"But... are you sure? We built these together so they would be difficult to remove, and I... Do you trust me?" he asked tenderly, swallowing hard as he studied the scalpel he was holding.

Simmons took his hand with a firm grip and looked straight into his eyes.

"It'll just be a pinch."

* * *

Ward grinned widely in his new office as her screams reverbrated through the helicarrier.


	14. Moral Discords And Nervous Horrors

**_A/N: And here at long last is chapter f_** ** _ourteen. To all readers – this is your trigger warning. This chapter contains a torture scene, including an excerpt from a previous chapter, and may cause distress to some readers. You know yourselves better than I do. But the rest of the chapter is chill, so no worries on that part. I hope you all enjoy this one._**

* * *

 _Physical pain, however great, ends in itself and falls away like dry husks from the mind,_

 _whilst moral discords and nervous horrors sear the soul._

–- Alice James

* * *

"How are we going, Daisy Duke?" Hunter asked the resident hacker, leaning forward and placing his chin on top of her head with brotherly affection.

"I think I'm really getting somewhere with this Twitter account," Daisy responded hopefully. "Some guy from Singapore has a cousin who does some shady business for a yakuza kingpin, whose friend-"

"You wanna save the long story for the report?"

"Right, sorry. So a guy is related to a guy who knows a guy in Korea who knows Ward somehow, and I'm trying to get the OP to message me so I can use his IP address to hack his computer and find his cousin's IP so I can find the other guy and hopefully we can send someone in."

The ex-mercenary scratched the back of his head.

"Uh... sure. Sounds like a plan."

Daisy smiled up at him and said, "You're pretty tech-savvy, right? I'm hoping maybe you could help me out with the tracking. Could really do with a hot shower and some sleep."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. So, uh, what's an 'OP'?"

She froze mid-smile. So much for that.

"Scratch that last idea. I'll shower when I'm done."

Hunter pursed his lips, deep in thought. "Look," he began, "I might not be the best with computers, but if there's anything I can do to help – anything at all... You give old Hunter a shout, yeah?"

"Yeah..." Daisy sighed absent-mindedly.

"Well, I'll go check on Bobbi. She's taking the pilot shift. May finally decided she needed a bit of shut-eye; imagine that. Anyway, best of luck finding something, and do keep us posted."

"Of course. Go rendezvous with your lover," she teased with a wink.

"I'll have you know our interactions have been purely professional, thank you very much."

"What, for the last five minutes? Amazing."

"Oh, shut up you."

And with that, he waltzed out of the room, and Daisy found herself alone.

* * *

Thirty minutes of desperate tapping of keys later, she finally found something.

"Guys?" she hollered into the comms. "Guys, I've got a video! I got through to that contact in Singapore and he gave me a video! I think I can see Simmons in the thumbnail!"

Footsteps pounded through the quiet of the living room as the members of Team Bus filed in.

"Not bad, Tremors," Mack said, beaming at the people around him. "How'd you get your hands on something like this?"

"Well, I have my ways," she replied cryptically, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Then her eyes returned to the screen, and she considered the video's contents. Daisy's hand hovered over the play button hesitantly, as if waiting for a jumpscare. She released the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding with a rattling exhale, wiping her clammy hands on her jeans roughly.

"I feel the need to advise viewer discretion. My contact, Timmy Wong – he seemed pretty shaken in giving this to me. So..."

"Let's hop to it, then," Hunter interjected impatiently.

Daisy hit the play button with bated breath.

* * *

The screen flickered to life in an instant, displaying Simmons bound to a chair with matted hair strewn across her forehead. An obscenely muscled giant of a man dressed in black combat uniform strode into the scene, dragging various tools and devices behind him on a steel frame trolley at a leisurely pace.

Hunter swore under his breath, and Daisy's chair squeaked in protest as May's hands tightened their grip.

"You probably know why you're here," a lazy male voice spoke from behind the camera.

 _Ward_ , Daisy seethed internally as the video continued to play before her.

"This is Tallis. Tallis gets a very specific kick out of following orders. Do you know what his orders are?"

His voice was bright yet condescending in a jaded way, like a disillusioned children's television show presenter. Simmons visibly shuddered in her chair, chafing her wrists raw against the constraints that held her down, and shook her head in response. Ward tutted and moved to obstruct her from view, bending down intimidatingly to stare her in the face.

"His orders are to cause you pain until you answer my questions. He will keep hurting you until I tell him to stop, just short of killing you. Do you understand this?"

Ward retreated so she came back into full view, and she nodded once, forcefully, relenting to him. There was no escaping this.

"So tell me – when was the first time you knew Skye had 'special abilities'?"

Simmons was confused for a moment. He had deliberately referred to Daisy by her chosen name. _What reason might he have to do that?_ she wondered. _And what does he want to know about her for?_

"Answer the question," Tallis growled, shoving the thin blade under her nose.

"I don't know. Fitz-"

"When did you _know_ , Jemma?"

"The day she was released from quarantine, I accidentally deleted the file containing the data from her original gel electrophoresis DNA sample and went back through our computer program's history – Fitz had deleted several files with Dai – er, _Skye's_ – identification number on them. Blood tests, DNA, vitals – he'd deleted all of them and replaced them with bogus results. Didn't try too hard faking specific ones either. It's like he didn't expect me to know about her heart murmur. So I managed to recover the original files, and... it looked like her chromosome sequence had been rewritten. Her new proteins didn't even make sense, they were... incredibly complex, inhumanly so. That was when I knew."

Ward smiled placatingly, and continued to pace around behind her.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it? Co-operation is a good thing for you, Jemma, and we're very grateful. Tallis, why don't we show her just how _grateful_ we are?"

Simmons cried out as a searing pain shot through her shoulder. The guard had slashed her arm so quickly that she didn't see it, and now blood was gushing from the angry wound and dripping to the floor. She looked up in shock.

"What the _hell_ , Ward? I answered your question!"

"Mm, you did, that is true. You gave me useless information that I could have figured out for myself, thinking I wouldn't punish you for it. No good deed goes unpunished, Jemma. That was just a test to see if you would co-operate. I never said anything about sparing the rod. Or the knife, in this case. How else are you going to learn any manners?"

Mack growled low like an animal in the back of his throat, hot anger boiling through his blood. There was no reasoning with a man like Ward. He was going to have to die.

* * *

"You don't deserve it," Simmons spat as her face contorted with rage. The screen distorted her expression, making her appear frighteningly demonic.

"Careful now, Simmons," the ex-agent warned. "I don't think you're in any position to be disrespecting me."

She continued to seethe in cold silence as he continued to pace around her, head held high in the air like a lion in its natural habitat.

"Where's Coulson?" Ward demanded, gesturing to Tallis to move into position. The guard swiftly angled the scalpel at her jugular artery.

"I don't know," she replied as calmly as she could. "I don't have the authorisation to-"

" _Bullshit_. Try again and you won't leave here in a stretcher. In fact, if I don't like your answer, you might never leave here again. Understood?"

The scalpel was pressed so firmly into the tender skin of her neck she felt it might burst. Simmons nodded slightly, trying not to move too much in case Tallis' hand slipped.

"I won't ask you again, Miss Simmons. Tell us where Coulson is or Tallis here will ensure you never see your right hand again."

"I said, I don't know," Simmons repeated, calm as clear waters. "Fitz and I are the brains of the team – Coulson only tells us what we need to know, when we need to know it. The Operations division handles all that. I thought Ward would have told you that. You know, from his _first-hand experience_."

Daisy cheered silently for her friend, but the frown never left her face. They weren't out of the woods yet.

A dark look of rage broke across Ward's face, and he gestured to Tallis, who moved his hand down her arm with aching slowness. Simmons let out a spine-tingling scream of pain as Tallis dug the scalpel into the tender crook of her elbow and slashed, blood and chunks of skin flying through the air in a gory mist. Tears ran down her face as she continued screaming in agony, the flames of sensation burning through her entire body and filling her veins with lead. She sobbed uncontrollably, pitifully, and groaned as Tallis pulled the blade from her skin with an obscene squelch.

Mack swallowed the bile that had risen to his mouth, and Bobbi averted her eyes with shaky breath.

"There. I think she's learned her lesson, don't you?" the Hydra director cooed malevolently. "Let's try that one again."

"You might as well kill me now, because I've got nothing to say to you," Simmons hissed through her tears.

Tallis ripped the plug from the razor-sharp circular saw sitting ready on the benchtop in frustration, as guilt began to eat him up from the inside. It was getting to him.

"Sir, she clearly knows nothing-"

"She's lying. I didn't think they trained them for that in their Academy, but it sure looks like it. I know they're both closer to Coulson than that. Always at his right hand side like some kind of self-important teacher's pets," Ward spat, his face contorted with jealousy and rage.

"If I didn't know any better, Ward, I'd say you sounded a little salty," Simmons rasped, lifting her chin defiantly.

Bobbi bit her lip nervously. Part of her was proud of Jemma for standing up to that traitor, but mostly she was legitimately concerned that she was taking it too far. She couldn't be sure how much skin the scientist had left on her arm at this point.

Ward nodded at Tallis, and Simmons heard a crack at the side of her head, the world spinning for a moment as pain seared through across her eyes like lightning. Blood began to trickle, warm and viscous, down the side of her face. Blinking furiously, she death-glared her captor.

"You think you can just sit there and insult me all day?" Ward growled furiously. "You think you can do whatever you want in here? You can't do _shit_ , Simmons. No one's coming to save you."

The screen faded into static.

* * *

"Evil bastard, why is he saying that?" Hunter asked, alarmed. "He's not talking about the trackers, is he? Tell me he's not referring to the trackers."

Daisy pressed her lips into a firm line. "I was just about to get to that," she began solemnly. "I traced their chips – nothing. They've either malfunctioned one after the other, or..."

"...or Ward removed them," May finished.

"Worse, I think," Daisy continued. "If I can just find who entered the release code that allows safe removal..."

A few minutes of typing later, she dropped her head into her hands at the table.

"Ward didn't remove them," she told them, voice trembling ever so slightly. "He... he made them cut the trackers out of each other."

Hunter swore loudly.

"Then how on God's green earth are we gonna find them now?" the ex-mercenary fretted, pacing back and forth across the common room carpet of The Playground.

"I don't know," Daisy replied dejectedly.

"We have to do something-"

"You don't think I of all people want them back on this plane? You don't think my heart is _breaking_ for Simmons as much as everyone else?"

"Jesus, Daisy, take a breath, will you?"

"I will not take a breath, Hunter, I just need to work harder because I've been at this for a week now, and - and all I have to show for it is this God-forsaken video! It's useless!"

Her chest heaved with emotion overdue for release, raging through her entire body and burning in her cheeks as she buried her tear-streaked face in her hands.

"I feel... useless."

Bobbi rested a firm hand on Daisy's shoulder, giving her a look of concern.

"Daisy, you are not useless. You've worked harder than any of us in this time of need. This team wouldn't function the way it does if it weren't for you," she reassured the younger agent.

Hunter nodded wordlessly in agreement.

"Don't talk about yourself that way, love," he added. "You're the heart and soul of this team, and I know Fitz and Simmons would agree."

Daisy bit the inside of her cheek to suppress the emotions welling up in her chest like a tsunami, but was largely unsuccessful. Tears began to stream down her face without pause, and she turned to sob into Bobbi's shoulder.

"I'm so tired, you guys," she admitted. "I'm tired of being so guarded all the time. I'm tired of working for three days straight for nothing. Now Simmons has been hurt. Really bad. And I don't even know how to find Fitz. I don't know if I can do this anymore."

May stepped forward suddenly and took Daisy by the shoulders.

"You listen to me, little lady," the older agent began. "Before you, nobody in this team knew how to delete a goddamn email account. You're going to acknowledge your talents and build some self-esteem or you can leave SHIELD. There's no room for second-guessing. You make the hard call or no call at all. Got it?"

She nodded stiffly in response.

"Good. I want you all to return to your stations, because I found something before Daisy called us in here."

Bobbi cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

"Don't leave us all hanging," Hunter spoke anxiously.

May gave him an accommodating smile so cold that he immediately shut his mouth.

"I've been listening to the radio channels of Hydra's Asian branch, and they know where FitzSimmons are."

The team's eyes widened in unison.

"Do we know which division has this knowledge? We need men on the ground," Mack asked, rubbing the back of his head in anticipation.

"We need women on the ground, actually. Thanks to Bobbi over here, we no longer have the ability to go unrecognised in the Japanese division, so she and I are going to infiltrate the Korean division instead. Which isn't such a bad alternative considering their leader, Oh Kangwoo, has a special place at the Hydra table and turned out to be Garrett's SO."

"It's not going to be easy," Daisy warned. "When I was in the Afterlife, Lincoln told me that Korean Hydra's been trying to track them down for the past half century. They know a hell of a lot more than the American division, that's for sure. Be careful."

"I'd be nothing if I wasn't careful," May responded coolly.

"When do we prep?" asked Bobbi.

"Right now. The applications are being looked over and new identities are being made as we speak. I'm the wife of a wealthy technology conglomerate CEO in north Seoul, and you're my sister-in-law from America who moved to Korea a year ago to help manage the family business."

Daisy began logging May's words into the official mission ledger with a new sense of determination as she continued.

"Word on the ground is that FitzSimmons have been reunited, but they're being held together in the old SHIELD helicarrier from the original Avengers era where... where Coulson died."

She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Untraceable, naturally. I'm thinking Mr. Oh knows where they're keeping them."

Bobbi scrunched her brows together in thought, processing the information they'd been given.

"What about these identities then?" she asked.

"My name from this point forward is Lee Seohyun. You are welcome to choose your own name within the next twenty-four hours. Choose wisely."

"Right," the baton-wielding blonde replied as May's voice echoed around her head.

 _Choose wisely._


	15. We Were Suffering And Dying

_**A/N: Welcome Seekers to chapter fifteen! Quick shoutout to my Seekers in Pakistan, Sweden and Nicaragua for your support this month. Love ya'll :) Expect a quiet moment where Simmons is trying to convince herself that everything's okay, angsty Fitz and general feelings being felt. This entire chapter is literally just feels. I'm writing this before Christmas, so Happy Holidays, have a great New Year, and I'll see you on the flip side. Sincerely hope you enjoy the change in stylistic choices for this chapter – thought this story could do with a refresh.**_

* * *

 _He was the reason we were all here,_

 _the reason we were suffering and dying,_

 _and he barely noticed us._

\- Patrick Jennings

* * *

They laid there for hours, silently holding each other the way the moon clings to the sky before sunrise. Waiting for the end to come. Simmons shivered against his chest as they remained still and unmoving on the stone floor, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, mimicking the chains that held them. Her wounds had turned to angry scars. There were dried flecks of blood still dyed into her skin. Fitz squeezed his eyes shut, frantically trying to wipe away the image of her suffering that was burned into his retinas. He heard her screams every time he closed his eyes. The crushed engineer let out a shaky exhale as he brought a hand over her hair, resting firmly on her shoulder at the end of its trajectory. He himself had not escaped unscathed, with the surgical scar on his shoulder from the removal of the tracker to show for it.

"I'm losing it, Fitz," Simmons admitted quietly. He frowned as her voice cracked on his name like plastic.

"I know," he whispered back. "Me too."

"What do you think he'll do next?"

"I don't know."

Not knowing was the worst part. The weird thing was Ward had held them in captivity, tortured Simmons, isolated Fitz from the sun of his solar system that was his lab and life partner, and had chosen to abandon them for a period of time despite promising them forced labour. Jemma found herself craving something to work on. A little micro-organism to draw, a kidney to dissect – anything would do.

" 'I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind,' " she whispered to him.

"Sorry?"

"Edgar Allan Poe, Leo. He wrote _The Raven_. That appears to be the unanimous favourite of everyone and their mums."

"But not yours, I'm guessing?"

"Correct. My favourite piece of his is a short story, _The Tell-Tale Heart_. Classic gothic conventions, unreliable narrator, all of that stuff in one place. I find myself identifying more and more with the madness each passing day. Each passing hour."

"Each passing second."

"Exactly."

Silence fell between them once more as they searched for something of meaning to say, but found their feelings were firmly anchored down in their hearts. It was safer that way.

* * *

They continued chatting idly about literature, science and philosophy for a time. Each were keenly aware of the emotional distance between them despite the intimacy their physical position might have suggested. Fitz and Simmons didn't need to talk about it, but something had changed between them since removing each other's trackers without anaesthesia. Something big. Like an avalanche rushing down a hill, they had slid away from each other slowly and then all at once – but then it was over, and all they could do was pretend it never happened. Cover up the damage. Turn it into a tourist destination.

"What are we doing?" Fitz asked briskly, retracting his arm from its place around Simmons.

"Well, it depends on what you mean by that," she replied, sitting herself up against the wall to look at him.

"I mean, what are we doing right now?"

"Being captive? Talking? I don't know."

"Yeah, but we're pretending nothing happened in here last night."

She pursed her lips at him in the way he always hated. It reminded him of his mother.

"Look, it was very painful for the both of us, but we're alive and did a perfectly good job on each other's procedures. If I were to knitpick I'd say my sutures could be more aligned, but I won't, because it's fine. We're _fine_."

Fitz sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

"Are we really? Are we fine? You haven't stopped shaking since it happened and I... I feel like I can't look at you the same," he admitted.

"I'm just cold," Simmons insisted. "There is a decided lack of insulation in here and I'm not wearing a jacket. It's only logical."

"You're gonna keep running from your feelings, huh?" he jabbed, and immediately regretted it.

Not that it wasn't true. Simmons was the most self-aware person he knew. It was in her nature to force herself to discuss her feelings, even in the worst of times. _I guess Ward tore her a whole new threshold,_ he thought.

"Whatever," Fitz murmured irritably. He didn't want to argue. Not in this situation. Not when the ice was so ripe for cracking beneath them. Not when they were already so close to falling through.

"When we first met Ward, I never thought he'd turn out like this. A proper monster in a human suit," she told him numbly. "I feel like this is my fault somehow. Like we could've known, or been more prepared."

"You know there was nothing to be done. None of this is our fault. Except for the being supposedly valuable part. University and the Academy were kind of deliberate."

Simmons gave him a weak half smile.

"I should hope so. People don't make it in places like that unless you really want to be there."

"And do you want to be here?"

She gave him an odd look.

"I mean... you know what I'm talking about. Stockholm for situations. Are you starting to surrender to the circumstances?"

Simmons reflected for a moment, pulling absent-mindedly at a knotted lock of hair in thought. She shook her head.

"No. I could never. But... I don't know. It hasn't really been long enough for that to come into the equation. There are too many variables at this point. Whether or not we'll be found, despite the lack of helpful technology, whether or not we'll actually live to be found even if SHIELD does somehow obtain that information..."

She trailed off, eyes glazing over in a glassy film of detachment.

"Yeah," Fitz agreed, his voice like that of a child whose balloon had deflated in their absence.

* * *

They both looked up sharply as the door at the end of the corridor slammed shut and Ward's figure appeared, dark and shadowy against the white light. He leant smugly against the glass of their containment unit and observed their vulnerable state with great satisfaction.

"I see you've made yourself at home, Fitz."

"Bugger off."

"Hm. Well, not to worry. You didn't miss out on the torturing. In fact, you're next, kiddo. Into the interrogation room with you."

Ward hit a button with a clenched fist and the doors shuddered open. Fitz threw up his hands in panic. His fate would be sealed with those doors.

"Wait, _wait_! Ward stop! You don't have to do this-"

 _Whump_. Simmons shrieked from the corner as Ward's fist made contact with her partner's jaw and knocked him unconscious in one swift movement.

"Shut up," Ward growled at her, dragging Fitz' limp body mercilessly through the doors and into the corridor.

"Fitz!" she screamed, tears spilling over onto her cheeks as she threw herself against the glass desperately. "Fitz, you can't leave me here! _Fitz_!"

Her voice was cut off cruelly by the shutting of the doors. She slid down the wall, inch by inch, and began to sob uncontrollably. Where Fitz was going, he would never come back. Not really.


	16. All But The Things That Cannot Be Torn

**_A/N: Welcome to chapter sixteen!_** ** _I've taken it upon myself to include some much needed comic relief - but that's not to say I'm abandoning genre. Team Bus are still very much on the warpath to getting FitzSimmons back and will do just about anything to do so. It just occurred to me that you all probably need a breath of non-torture air, so buckle in for the longest chapter in TSAGP history! There's also another snippet of actual episode dialogue – 'Closure', S03E09. I'm doing a quick timeline for everything that deviates from the canon in the post script at the end. Stay tuned for badass mama May, cocky Hunter, Mack and Morse banter,_** ** _overworked Coulson (as per usual) and unstoppable Daisy._**

* * *

 _"_ _Adversity is like a strong wind._

 _I don't mean just that it holds us back_

 _from places we might otherwise go._

 _It also tears away from us_

 _all but the things that cannot be torn,_

 _so that afterward_

 _we see ourselves as we really are,_

 _and not merely as we might like to be."_

\- Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

* * *

"Remind me again why you've got me strapped to a chair and deep breathing my little heart out?" Hunter protested grumpily, thumping his head back into the headrest like an impatient child on a road trip.

May placed her slim fingers calmly on the smooth black wood surface of the interrogation room table and frowned disapprovingly.

"For the umpteenth time, it's called biofeedback. I'm monitoring every field agent's heart rate, breath rate, blood pressure, muscle tension, vocal pitch and tone, stillness, any observable nervous tics and general ability to not give the game away under pressure. What happened to Simmons can't happen again. The only time I want carving tools around this team better be Halloween."

"Can't argue with that, sister."

"Focus on the task," she replied coldly, but a faint spark of mirth danced in her eyes.

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut and tried to consciously relax his major muscle groups one by one, slowing his breathing and concentrating on remaining calm. An ominous click sounded into his right ear, and he pried an eye open. He swerved backwards in his chair from the gun May held to his temple.

"What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing?" the ex-mercenary demanded, flexing against his restraints.

"I'm turning up the heat. Can you handle it?"

Hunter shut his mouth with a snap of teeth in determination.

"Three beers says my heart rate doesn't go above 62 bpm," he responded firmly.

"You're on. Bet you wish you had knocked on wood just then."

He smirked loudly, and found himself eye to eye with the barrel of a Glock pistol. His expression went dead.

"Yeah, well – maybe."

She pressed her lips together in a restrained smile.

"It's been a long, difficult day. I'm really starting to look forward to happy hour."

Hunter shifted forward in the seat with a challenging glare. "Do your worst then."

May leaned in closer, inch by agonisingly slow inch, and whispered, "Boo."

He jumped like a shot, and the fabric of the chair squealed as he scrambled to move away from the gun. She snorted and placed the gun back in safety mode in her holster.

"You spiked to 70. Looks like I'm getting free drinks at eight pm tonight."

Hunter stuck out his lower lip and crossed his arms.

"You had a gun."

"Come on, we both know it isn't loaded. Even if it were, why the hell would I try to hurt you? We're in this team together."

"It sure as hell doesn't feel like your everyday camaraderie when there's a pistol staring you in the face!"

"Excuses, excuses."

"Look, if you don't think I'm right for the job, at least let me-"

"Settle down, I'm only kidding. I do that sometimes."

She exhaled deeply, centring herself before continuing.

"Don't beat yourself up. It's your first session, and you maintained steady 60's throughout the entire mock interrogation. Hell, if I were Coulson, I'd say I'm goddamn proud of you."

"But you're not, so I'm probably still getting coal in my Christmas stocking. Thanks, mum."

May smacked him in the arm with a grin.

"Ow," he growled, clutching his tricep. "Strong mum."

"That's right. Also, one thing."

"What?"

"If you want to keep that arm, never call me mom again."

"Copy that. Mum."

"That's it, come here you little rascal-"

Daisy looked up from her work in surprise, and dug a finger in her ear to ensure she wasn't hearing things. The young agent could've sworn she heard May laughing from the interrogation room. She shrugged to herself. Half the battle in working with Hunter was keeping a straight face while you did it. And although his tear-inducing one-liners proved distracting in the field, the humour didn't go unwanted, considering the circumstances. They could all use a pick-me-up, and he was proving with each passing day to be the tall glass that the team desperately needed.

* * *

Mack grunted hard as he stumbled off the elliptical, heart pounding. He'd been training intensely since being cleared for recovery, but after three weeks he found himself at a fitness plateau. Despite the half hour of cardio, half hour of plyometrics, ten minutes of high intensity combat drills with no breaks and optional weapon practice every day, he felt that he was getting nowhere. He'd had the body of a god before his stroke – not just in the aesthetic sense, but in an almost spiritual way. People in high-risk fields like intelligence work often had an intimate connection with their bodies; a requirement of the profession, which often became highly physical. He felt like a phone line that had frayed at the ends, and water had seeped in through the cable. It had corrupted his elaborate system of genetic success and discipline that he had taken for granted his entire working life. He needed a refresh; new cables to get the old piece of junk up and running again, but the person in charge of his training was captured nearly a month ago.

Like she had read his mind, Bobbi entered the room with a smile and said, "This is where I step in. I'll be taking over your physical therapy from here. Just thought I'd give you a heads up. With my regimen, you're going to need it."

Mack met her bright eyes with an equally bright grin. Any opportunity to work with a good friend in a non-lethal situation was a rare luxury in this line of work.

"Gotta admit, Mockingbird, I'm surprised to hear that. Who's responsible for you jumping ship? Since when are you Sci-Tech?" he asked, reaching for his third bottle of water and a fresh towel.

"I didn't jump ship - still running Ops assignments here and there. Just... less of them. My knee started acting up again after that stupid raid on Hydra's naval base. I was sidelined by none other than Coach Coulson himself. But he's been off the grid for a little while, and you need a new trainer, so May appointed me to you. Besides, I've always been Sci-Tech. Thought you knew?

"Fresh headlines to me."

She raised her eyebrows in genuine surprise, but things were often kept under wraps in SHIELD. The more secret skills you had, the more high-value a target you could become. It was only to be expected.

"Well, I had a Master's degree in Biotechnology lying around, so SHIELD took advantage. Wisely, too. Ever heard of spray-on skin?"

His jaw dropped.

"Get out. You developed the technology that's been saving burn victims around the globe in the past decade?"

"No, I'm totally messing with you. That was Dr Fiona Wood, from Perth. I went to a few of her lectures when I was on exchange at the University of Western Australia."

Mack sat back down on the benchpress seat, letting out a deep exhale.

"So you're one of SHIELD's finest field agents... _and_ a shockingly dedicated scientist. I've heard things about Australian summers."

"Is that so hard to believe? And besides, you did a whole bunch of science back in the day as well."

He threw up his hands in surrender. People who looked like her shouldn't be allowed to be so smart. It wasn't fair to the rest of the mere mortals.

"Is it nice in Perth?"

"It's got a great mechatronics scene. You'd like it."

The recovering agent frowned at a spot on the ground.

"Fitz would've liked it too."

"Yeah..." she agreed, eyes drifting off to a place he could not see. "Anyway, we start tomorrow at 6 am sharp. Figured you could use the extra sleep with this awful new protein diet of yours. It's based off the one we developed for Coulson after he came back from T.A.H.I.T.I. It's designed specifically to support muscle gain and repair, but between you and me, I think it's designed to give people constipation. How much harm can a little pectin do, you know? An apple a day would keep me away."

"You're messing with me again," he replied incredulously.

She smiled knowingly in response, in that way that showed she knew something he didn't. It was a smile he'd grown familiar with over the years.

"No way."

"Yes way. Simmons was still in the Academy at the time. Guess who the bio consultant was before Simmons."

"Jesus, Bobbi. What level are you?"

The Mockingbird did not allow him a response, but continued talking.

"I can't believe you thought I developed spray-on skin. You were with me that night after mid-terms when I was geeking out over the news."

"Well, you'll have to forgive me for not remembering, Agent Morse. I don't usually fraternise with biology nerds. Physics master race."

Bobbi rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't hide her grin.

"You weren't even a physics major."

"Girl, have you seen an aeronautics course outline these days? They're basically the same thing at this rate."

"But aeronautical engineering isn't what's helping you recover. Empirical knowledge of the human body is. You can keep the pamphlet, you purist," she smirked, turning on her heels and sweeping out of the room with cat-like grace.

"Pfft. That was one time I handed out brochures for Engineer's Society. One time," he grumbled to himself.

* * *

Daisy was as surprised as any of them would be when she returned to her bunk to find Coulson reading an expanded universe _Star Wars_ comic book on her bed.

"I thought you went dark in Tahiti?" she asked with a restrained air, holding back her questions and frustrations the way May had indoctrinated into her.

"I did. Now I'm back," he replied with a bored tone, unfazed by her notably suppressed reaction as he dropped the comic on her bed lightly and led her to his office. It was her own fault if one of her forehead veins popped from the strain of holding back.

"And you want something from me, or you wouldn't have returned so soon," Daisy conjectured grimly, sitting down across from him at a designated interrogation desk. She eyed the handcuff rails warily, but he made no move to restrain her.

"Correct. I've spent the morning questioning the team one-on-one for any info they might have. I want you to tell me, off-record, everything you know about Ward that might help us find him. If we find him, we find FitzSimmons. I've dedicated more than half of SHIELD's resources and a quarter of our total manpower, and naturally everyone else on the planet disagrees with my choices. So for the love of God, please say something useful. It's been a long day."

She fell silent for a moment, and reached out a sympathetic hand. He considered the move for a fleeting moment, and retracted his own like it had been burned by her touch. There were still lines between the professional and the personal, it seemed.

"I don't know what to say," the hacker admitted earnestly.

"How about you just answer the questions?" he replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose in fatigue.

"Sure. But... I doubt there's anything you don't already know."

Coulson smiled obligingly, but it came off more like a grimace.

"I've heard all about how Ward fell for you. Now tell me how you fell for him."

Her face fell almost immediately. This was not going to be an easy talk.

"There was just something about him," Daisy replied, thoughts running from brain to lips with little care for delicacy. Coulson wanted the truth; no point in trying to keep it from him. "We both had these messed-up childhoods... Made it easier to relate."

"Ever considered that all that might have been an act? To get close? That maybe he found a weakness, and exploited it?"

She had to consciously stop herself from squirming like a dying bug in her chair from discomfort. Whatever he was suggesting, the truth was surely worse. It always was, with Grant.

"No, it wasn't an act. For whatever reason, Ward never lied to me. He just..." Daisy trailed off in thought, looking for a better way to articulate things. "...hid parts of himself that I wasn't ready to see yet."

Bingo.

"Yet?" Coulson enquired. This was the most success in questioning he'd had all day.

"When you grew up like we did, it... it impacts how you see the world. Everything's filtered through a very specific lens. And Ward got that."

Daisy paused for a moment, shoving down the emotions that were rising in the back of her mind like bile.

"That's why he thought he could make me understand him," she continued with noticeable effort.

"Was he right?" the Director asked cautiously.

"Probably. After years of moving from place to place, I _totally_ get how easy it was for him to be taken in by a powerful father figure. I even understand how Garrett was able to draw him into Hydra, it's not like I wasn't fooled by my mom when she-"

"Sounds like there's a lot you're willing to forgive."

She shook her head with a bitter little smile. It felt like less of a should've-known-better smile and more of an ugly gash on her face.

"I will never forgive him. He _murdered_ Rosalind - just to hurt you."

Coulson clasped his hands together hard under the table. It had taken him weeks for the fact to sink in, and it still smarted more than he was comfortable admitting.

"He killed Koenig-"

She stopped to take a breath as the tears prickled at the backs of her eyes, and continued. There was no stopping it now.

"He killed Koenig because of _me_."

Daisy fell silent, eyes cast down, studying her hands. _Focus on a single point. Let everything else fade into the background._ Her heart began to slow its running pace, and she regained her calm. She had to stay calm if she was going to survive this conversation. The agent clenched her trembling fists as Coulson continued.

"He knew once Koenig outed him as Hydra, he'd lose you."

She nodded numbly.

"And the sad part is, that's when I finally understood him for the first time."

Coulson cocked his head sideways curiously.

"The reason Ward kills isn't because he feels nothing. It's because he feels too much."

He sat back in his chair, mind ticking over as he processed what she had told him. Switching off the audio recorder, he took a deep breath.

* * *

"So what did the Council have to say about him?" Daisy asked somewhat gingerly.

Might as well try for details while they were talking anyway.

"He's useful. He knows way too much, but that makes him useful to us. They want us to find FitzSimmons and then find him. _Alive_ ," he added emphatically.

A small growl formed at the back of her throat.

"The only reason he's useful is because he gained all his intel through seriously unethical means. I trust you received the Simmons video?"

"I did. But it was a means to an end. It always is in this industry. A man with that many connections gets killed, the whole world will hear about it. They'll get suspicious. If they get suspicious, they'll search every last dropbox of his until they find something useful. Whether he gained his knowledge through ethical or unethical means doesn't change the fact that he has it, and how he obtained it doesn't matter to the Council. They make the call, not me."

"But you're the Director! You can sway their opinions. You have to say something! He's the reason Fitz has actual, legitimate trust issues, and he betrayed all of us. You said it yourself – he knows too much."

She was met with a stubborn frown, and it only irked her further.

"Coulson, I am recommending that Ward should be crossed off."

He exhaled heavily into the cool office air.

"You heard what I said, Agent Johnson. Ward is to be brought to the Council alive for questioning and then thrown into the new Fridge at the lowest subterranean level we have. That's a direct order."

Daisy narrowed her eyes at him fiercely. Her whole life she had never trusted people. The moment she did, the man dropped two of her best friends at the bottom of the ocean and used her as bait for Hydra's world domination plot. He ran off with half of SHIELD's assets, remade himself, and returned with a new girlfriend. But they had taken care of her. There was nothing left to stop them from being together. A part of her had wanted that life. A dangerous, mistrusting, but loving relationship. But Ward had thrown that all away when he took FitzSimmons - again. And if Coulson got in the way of her cleansing the Earth from a man like that, then he would have to go too.

He'd understand that, surely.

* * *

 ** _P.S: Quick summary of the non-canon in this fic. FitzSimmons were still dropped at the bottom of the ocean. Fitz has mostly recovered from his hypoxia, but as you know, brain trauma is complicated stuff and there's no telling of the permanent effects._** ** _Simmons never went to Maveth, and let's pretend the entire finale never happened (except Rosalind's death) because goddamnit, I'm not ready to deal with those feelings yet._** _ _ **None of this Lash business either, but let's still assume Andrew worked with SHIELD one way or another.**__ _ _ **Ward was eventually redeemed, given the benefit of the doubt because of his**_ _ **past and**_ _ **sheer amount of skill as a specialist but it was months before he was able to gain the team's trust again, and only works very specific assignments where his knowledge of Hydra is required. FitzSimmons never trusted him again,**_ _ **but didn't expect him to betray them again. Because if Coulson trusts him, they can trust him, right? Wrong. Coulson used him because he was useful.**_ _ **A means to an end.**__

 ** _Stay tuned for more TSAGP on Saturday!_**


	17. And Then The Nightmares Will Begin

**_A/N: Welcome Seekers to chapter seventeen. Let's all take a moment to applaud AsguardGuardian for being a such a motivating reviewer and inspiring the final line of this chapter! If you haven't checked out their fic 'Wake Up Tomorrow and Regret The Pain', you need to. Anyway, it's about to get very, very dark._** ** _PTSD triggers, more torturing both physical and mental... There's a reason I wanted the last chapter to be a lighter read (until the ending, of course) and that is because I wanted to prepare you all for this. This is the very heart of FitzSimmons' Bahrain._**

* * *

 _You'll be sick or feeling troubled_

 _or deeply in love_

 _or quietly uncertain_

 _or even content for the first time in your life._

 _It won't matter._

 _Out of the blue, beyond any cause you can trace,_

 _you'll suddenly realize things are not how you perceived them to be at all._

 _For some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were._

 _You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you,_

 _more importantly shifts in you._

 _Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts,_

 _a vast shimmer, only dark like a room._

 _But you won't understand why or how._

 _You'll have forgotten what granted you this awareness in the first place..._

 _You might try then, as I did, to find a sky so full of stars it will blind you again._

 _Only no sky can blind you now._

 _Even with all that iridescent magic up there, your eye will no longer linger on the light,_

 _it will no longer trace constellations._

 _You'll care only about the darkness and you'll watch it for hours,_

 _for days, maybe even for years, trying in vain to believe you're some kind of indispensable,_

 _universe-appointed sentinel, as if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay._

 _It will get so bad you'll be afraid to look away, you'll be afraid to sleep._

 _Then no matter where you are, in a crowded restaurant or on some desolate street or even in the comforts of your own home,_

 _you'll watch yourself dismantle every assurance you ever lived by._

 _You'll stand aside as a great complexity intrudes, tearing apart, piece by piece, all of your carefully conceived denials, whether deliberate or unconscious._

 _And then for better or worse you'll turn, unable to resist, though try to resist you still will,_

 _fighting with everything you've got not to face the thing you most dread,_

 _what is now, what will be, what has always come before,_

 _the creature you truly are,_

 _the creature we all are,_

 _buried in the nameless black of a name._

 _And then the nightmares will begin._

\- Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

* * *

Fitz awoke violently to find himself chained tightly to a chair in the helicarrier's interrogation room. "Goddamnit!" he screamed in frustration at the walls, throwing himself at the chains. "Ward!"

"No need to shout, Fitz. I'm right here," the man responded, creeping out from the shadows in slow, steady movements. He looked like a shark swimming calmly through its home waters, waiting for its unsuspecting prey to swim by.

"Go on, then," Fitz croaked. "Torture me. Or get your little crony Tallis to do it for you. Either way, there's nothing left for me to lose. You hurt Simmons, and you hurt me in the process. I've been through enough pain for it not to matter anymore. I'm not giving you anything."

Ward smirked and crossed one leather-clad arm behind the other, wrist pressing against the black tentacles of his stainless Hydra patch.

"I'll make sure to test that hypothesis," he jeered.

The engineer glared at him silently. There was nothing left to say. No more threats of SHIELD coming for him, no more promises to murder Ward when he got the chance, not even the chance of escape. He looked to the doorway as Tallis entered, pulling a familiar stainless steel trolley behind him. Sitting on the trolley was a large specimen jar not unlike the ones on the shelves in his and Simmons' lab, but it was full of water. It struck him all at once what Ward intended to do.

 _Of course_ , Fitz realised, pure depression spreading through his body like disease. _A fitting method of torture._

"I know how you feel around large amounts of water, so I made sure to collect enough to drown you in. Periodically, of course. I want answers, not your death. Not yet," Ward gloated, bringing his hands to rest on the back of his prisoner's chair.

Fitz swallowed the dry lump in his throat as his body began to quake uncontrollably in anticipation, chains clinking softly against the chair with his movements. Fear clenched like a fist, squeezing the air from his chest. All of a sudden he couldn't breathe. Images flashed through his mind dizzyingly fast like a silent film. Him and Simmons in the pod at the bottom of the ocean. Bubbles floating past in the cold dark of the water. Filling his lungs, choking him from the inside...

"You're afraid. Good. Fear paves the way for compliance. Your compliance will be rewarded."

 _I can't let him get to me. I can't let him get in my head._

The weight of his situation sat like a stone in his gut as Tallis brought the water jar closer and closer, until it sloshed right under his nose. Tears began to form in Fitz's eyes, and he turned away in shame as he began to weep like a little boy who had been abandoned by his mother.

"Fitz, are you crying?" Ward said in disgust. "I knew you were pathetic, but Jesus Christ, man. We haven't even started yet."

"What do you want?" the engineer demanded with an air of vulnerability as he began to gently work his hands beneath the chains to the secret compartment of his belt to retrieve his mini-screwdriver, then to the electric padlock.

"I want you tell me everything you know about override protocols on the Bus."

"Or what? You're gonna hurt me? I'm hurting enough already, Ward. Do you know when animals are strongest?"

He suppressed a little smile as he heard the telltale click of hope. _Never try to restrain a rocket scientist with electronics_ , he thought with satisfaction.

Ward cocked an eyebrow. "Can't say I do, boy genius," he purred. "Enlighten me."

"It's when they're wounded."

Fitz broke free from his chains with a violent uproar of noise, his restraints crashing to the ground in a cacophony of noise. He lunged for Ward's throat with a shout.

"Tallis-" the Hydra director rasped as he struggled against Fitz's grip. " _Tallis_!"

The guard leapt forth from the shadows and wrapped his trunk of an arm around Fitz's throat, squeezing like a python does its prey. The engineer gasped for air and let Ward fall to the ground in a wheezing heap as black spots appeared at the corners of his vision. The room began to swim as Ward gave the order to stand down.

"Stupid scientist," spat Ward as he continued to heave for breath. "You thought you could escape? You thought you could overpower me? You're a walking _joke_ , Fitz. I've seen drunk middle-aged ladies with a better chance than you do. Why don't you just sit back and answer my questions? It'll be easier for the both of us."

His patronising tone made Fitz want to throw up all over Ward's weathered combat boots. He really had thought he'd had a chance at escape.

"It's a shame you're such a pathetic weakling, because that would've been one hell of an escape line," the ex-agent sympathised.

It seemed so simple at the time. Just kill Ward. He had one job, and he couldn't even do that. With a broken spirit, he allowed himself to be dumped back in the same uncomfortable plastic chair and tied up with a steel padlock.

* * *

"How do I override the Bus?"

"Go to hell."

Ward inhaled sharply, and gestured at Tallis towards the water jar.

"I guess that means you want to go for a swim, don't you?"

Before Fitz could react, his head was plunged into the filthy sea water. He screamed, but all that came out was an underwhelming rush of bubbles past his ears. His lungs flooded, and his chest seized up. It felt like death itself had wrapped its icy fingers around his lungs. Tallis pulled him back up violently, him gasping and choking. Fitz began to tremble violently as the memories came back, pouring over him, drowning him.

"No, no, no, no... Stop it. _Stop it_! Please!" he begged pitifully. "I'll give you whatever you want."

"I don't know," Ward replied with a bored tone, flicking dirt from under his fingernails. "Will you?"

Fitz found himself underwater again, the murky depths roiling furiously as he screamed in terror. There was a vague sensation of his fists smashing against the table, but he barely felt the bruising spread across his knuckles. Tallis grimaced as he brought the scientist back up for air, shaking and gasping with shallow breaths. Fitz threw up dirty water all over himself, spilling onto the table. Ward wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"I'm really not feeling this, Fitzy," the traitorous ex-agent told him in that same unaffected tone of utter boredom. "How about you just answer my questions?"

Fitz did not dignify him with an answer.

"How about that?" Ward repeated forcefully. "Unless you want Simmons to take a dip too-"

"No."

"What's that?"

The engineer took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut in shame for what he was about to do.

"You can override the Bus' electricals and flight path from the helicarrier's main station," he relented, a weight spilling off his shoulders with every word. He hated himself more than anyone else in that room as he continued blubbering information in the hopes that he wouldn't get dunked like an amusement park dummy in the water jar again.

"Good. Tallis, take a step back. See, Fitz? Your compliance is already being rewarded."

Fitz all but sighed with relief. But before he could fully relax his body, he found himself thrashing inside the water jar again with Ward himself holding him under for a moment before being ripped back into his chair.

"What – the hell – was that for?" Fitz spluttered.

"Oh, that one was for fun. I lied before. I like watching you scream for mercy inside that jar. Where no one can hear you. Looks like the tree falls silently after all."

"Not for long. When I get out of here-"

" _Again_ with the threats. We've been through this with Simmons already. You're in no position to be threatening me. You're the victim here, Fitzy."

"Don't call me that!" he shouted furiously.

"Aw, why? Let me guess – only your precious Jemma can call you that. Well she's dead to the world, just like you. She's _nothing_ , just like you. You can't tell me what to do. You will comply."

Something distant clicked in Fitz' mind. _Oh no_. His mental cogs began to shift, rolling and stuttering to life at the oddly familiar command.

"I..." he began cautiously.

"You...?" Ward enquired with a slow-spreading grin.

"I am happy to comply."

* * *

Fitz made no move to resist as Tallis threw him back onto the dusty ground of their cell, shivering and numb with trauma. Simmons scrambled to his side and took his head into her lap, holding him silently as they rocked back and forth in tandem, water droplets rolling off his chin and dripping onto the hard floor.

"He drowned you, didn't he?" she asked despairingly.

Fitz found himself unable to respond.

"Fitz? Didn't he? Fitz, love, you need to talk about it-"

"I don't want to."

"Fitzy-"

The events of his torture came flooding back in a tidal wave of destruction, and something dark was triggered inside him.

" _No_!" he yelled at her, shuffling quickly to the opposite side of their cell.

"Fitzy, what's going on? You need to tell me what's wrong so I can help."

"I don't need your help!" Fitz shouted, blood rushing to his face and filling the veins in his forehead.

Sadness stung the backs of Simmons' eyes, but there were no tears left in her to cry. It was like Ward had squeezed every last drop out of her when he took Fitz to the interrogation room.

"He called you 'Fitzy'." she realised despairingly, choosing to remain in her corner of the room.

To anyone else, it would've seemed insignificant. But the smallest paper cuts stung the most. And only Simmons was allowed to call him by his childhood nickname. It was one of the few sacred things that they still had. The only thing that Ward hadn't been able to take away. Until now, of course.

He made a noise akin to a child's wail against the wall, whimpering like a wounded puppy.

Simmons' heart panged for his suffering in that moment. "He did a lot more than that, by the looks of things."

Her lab partner nodded wordlessly and lunged towards her. She flinched, but he just collapsed into her arms like a helpless toddler who had scraped his knee on the unforgiving bitumen.

"He broke you, Fitz."

She held him in silence as he cried for hours.


	18. Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover

__**A/N:**_ _ **Hello my dear Seekers! W**_ _ **elcome to chapter**_ _ **eighteen.**_ _ **Thank you all so much for supporting this story. Reading your reviews absolutely completes me.**_ _**Things are getting rather exciting,**_ _ **what with the team getting their spy on**_ _ **– and here we get to meet Fitz's baby, his precious technological infant child, Zephyr One. I broke away from canon because I have too damn many sentimentalities regarding the Bus and refuse to ackowledge its departure. So in TSAGP, Coulson's handpicked SHIELD team owns a revamped Bus,**_ _ **the Jump Jet, Zephyr One**_ _ **and**_ _**the**_ _**Q**_ _ **uinjet.**_ _ **I'm**_ _ **mad**_ _ **jealous.**__

* * *

 _ _..._ _There are two types of secrets:__

 _ _the kind that you want to keep in,__

 _ _and the kind you don't dare to let out.__

\- Ally Carter, Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover

* * *

"You settled on a name yet?"

Bobbi jumped so hard she nearly fell off the spin bike.

"May, what did I tell you about ninja approaches before nine in the morning? You scared the living hell out of me," she said, smiling knowingly.

The older woman shrugged.

"Anyway, have you?" May asked as the agent before her stepped off the machine and began her stretch routine with a TheraBand.

Bobbi sighed. Straight to the point, she was.

"I have. Brittany Iwanciwski. All-American with a touch of European heritage."

"Eastern European. Polish," May observed with a raised brow.

"Yeah. A tribute to my _babcia_."

"Cute."

Bobbi rolled her eyes at May's constant vibe of disapproval towards sentimentality.

"I thought so too," she replied drily.

Silence fell between them for a moment as she towelled off and threw on a black SHIELD jacket.

"So what's our relationship going to be like? Are we gonna do the whole 'bitter rivals' thing that ruins family Thanksgiving dinners, or am I the friendly college roommate who introduced you to my brother?"

May thought for a moment, one lean arm crossing over the other in habit.

"If we're applying for work together, it probably makes more sense for us to like each other. I'm thinking friends who haven't seen each other since college and decide to start in a new job. Hunter can be my family's security detail and report on anything he finds out behind the scenes."

They left the gym room together, walking quietly through the dim hallways of the Playground to the command centre. The sun had just peeked over the hilltops of the terrain surrounding them, but no warm rays of buttery sunlight made it over the borders of the facility. The base remained as cool and artificially lit as ever.

"So, what are we actually going to be doing there?" Bobbi asked curiously, resting her tanned hands on the back of a black leather computer chair in the control room. _Surprisingly ergonomic_ , she observed approvingly. _Coulson always did like his comfy chairs._

"I'm the international business representative of Mind, Body and Seoul Technology and you are the new director of creative ventures, managing any new technologies the company makes. I've scheduled a meeting where we're going to sell Hydra state-of-the-art equipment for their men to play with – nothing dangerous, of course, but useful nonetheless. We need them to like us. Trust us. Of course it's just a one-time business deal, but we need them to like us so much that they decide to take us on for a more long-term position in Hydra. We'll need your... powers of attraction, should the opportunity present itself."

"So if things don't work out, you basically want me to sleep our way in."

" _Flirt_ our way in, but if you consent, I don't see your efforts being wasted. This isn't exactly ethical, I know, but-"

"This whole operation is off-book, and I would walk to the ends of the Earth to get our science babies back into the lab."

"Right," May agreed, encouraged by her partner's work ethic. "We'll be aiming to become international talent liaison, so we can have access to all the branches. Mr Oh screens international representatives personally, after which we either continue to gain his trust and get the intel we need, or we take it by force. I'm sure Hunter has some underlying frustrations with Hydra he'll be more than willing to work out on the head of any division."

The blonde agent took a deep breath. "It could take weeks. Heck, it could take _months_." She paused, as if mulling over whether she should say what she was thinking. "The only thing keeping FitzSimmons alive for another day is the fact that Ward needs them for something. For closure, revenge, or... their expertise, perhaps. Do you think we can do it?" she asked in concern.

May frowned.

"It's not a question of whether we can or cannot. We have to."

Bobbi lifted her chin with an air of determination.

"Then let's polish off that paperwork, Mrs Lee. I have a business model to prepare."

They exchanged smiles briefly.

* * *

"How come I don't get to go incognito?" Daisy complained, bouncing her foot impatiently on the living room floor with an Android tablet in hand. "I've been in the field for more than two years, and my Korean's pretty good."

Hunter shook his head with a knowing smile from his spot next to her playing FIFA 2015 on the couch. He couldn't count the number of times he'd walked in on her yelling angrily at a sappy K-drama on her laptop.

"Because you don't talk business, darling," he explained gently. "And Bobbi says there are no vacant positions in the IT department. You can still run back end-"

"I _always_ run back end. Always. I want to do something to help FitzSimmons come home."

May pressed her lips into a firm line as she entered the room, searching the cabinets for decaffeinated instant coffee.

"You are helping, Daisy. Your work is just as important as ours. We're going to need you to give us the intel we need, when we need it, and get us through security when necessary."

The young hacker sank into her chair with a pout.

"We also need you to encrypt our daily reports before sending them to Coulson through the classified SHIELD channel Bravo Sierra Victor thirty-three," May added.

"Yes, ma'am," Daisy droned begrudgingly.

Hunter furrowed his brows together in concentration. An unhappy Daisy was an unhappy team.

"We can binge watch the new season of Doctor Who?" he offered hopefully.

She couldn't stifle the grin that spread across her face.

"Allons-y, homeboy," she replied happily, and snatched her sonic screwdriver replica from her bunk.

* * *

"Mack, meet Zephyr One. Zephyr One, meet the biggest avionics fanboy on the planet," Bobbi quipped, resting a black leather-clad elbow on the nose of Fitz's last big invention before he was taken.

Agent Mack gaped shamelessly at the enormous beast of metal and sleek lines before them.

"It's beautiful," he replied in awe.

"It's also SHIELD property, not Coulson property. We've been authorised to use it for this mission, and only for when we call in backup. So pick your jaw up off the ground," she added with a wink.

"How many miles on this thing?" he asked.

"Zero. You're gonna be the first one to pilot this thing tomorrow."

Mack found himself struggling for words as Bobbi continued.

"Zephyr's got more guns than anyone could possibly need, storage packed to the walls with supplies, and the latest in cloaking technology hand-crafted by Fitz and his team. Not to mention air-to-air docking capabilities – speaking of which, we need the Jump Jet attached by tomorrow morning. May and I are meant to be going in alone, with the exception of Hunter as our security detail, so flying in on this bad boy would raise a few questions. And yes, you can join security if you ask. I'm happy with the progress you've made in physio these past couple of weeks."

Mack beamed like a child at Christmas.

"So we start tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

* * *

Summer in Korea was up there with the hellish things Bobbi and May had experienced. The stifling humidity sucked every drop of moisture from their skin like a hungry beast, sweat glistening across their cheekbones in a dewy film. They looked like extraterrestrial creatures as they stepped off the cargo ramp of Zephyr one and entered the sweet, cool air of the Samsung office building that disguised Hydra's main Korean base, every eye turning to stare at the two glowing women as they glided confidently through the complex despite the bothersome weather.

"Take the next left," Daisy instructed them through their earpieces. "Enter conference room number nineteen, and wait for my thirty-second approach warning."

"Okay Hydra, let's see what you've got for us," Bobbi murmured to herself as she plugged Daisy's cheap plastic USB into the conference room computer. It looked about two dollars' worth of tech – entirely inconspicuous to the unknowing eye - but she and Fitz had modified it after the Cybertek raid to store three terabytes of data. Daisy almost felt sorry for them.

"Click on the program called 'Run scan dot e-x-e' and let it take a comprehensive image of everything in the network," she told Bobbi carefully.

"Yes ma'am. Any brand new tech to stop this damn pencil skirt from sticking to my body?" Bobbi squirmed, pulling down her business clothes where they had hiked up and stuck to her hot skin.

"Not at this point in time, I'm afraid."

"Well... we should do something about that. I'm sweatin' like a sinner in church."

Daisy smirked before focusing on the monitor in front of her, displaying a transparent 3D model of the building with two red dots showing where Bobbi and May stood. Her eyes were drawn from them as a group of blue dots made their way towards the conference room.

"May, Bobbi, this is your thirty-second approach warning. Hydra representatives heading your way now. Do not reply out loud, repeat, do not reply out loud. Targets are within hearing distance."

She looked down at her pager as it beeped profusely, blinking at her with a message from Bobbi.

* * *

MAYKINGBIRD DUO CONFIRMING MISSION NYE RETRIEVAL IS A GO.

* * *

The hacker cocked an eyebrow. _Nye? Like Bill Nye the Science Guy_? She stifled a snort. Bobbi never ran out of original names for missions.

Her laptop pinged pleasantly, the notification reading:

* * *

 _1 New Message from Agent Barbara Morse_

Hydra network scan anomalies . docx

* * *

"This is Q confirming Mission Nye Retrieval is a go. Running transfers now, and ready to go radio silent. Good luck," Daisy spoke into her mic before the two agents on screen switched off their comms.

She watched anxiously as they removed their earpieces and microphones bare seconds before the Hydra employees walked through the door.

May consciously stopped herself from shaking her head knowingly. _Q. Who else could she be_?

"This is Cameron confirming Mission Nye Retrieval is a go. Awaiting commands in the corridor exactly one hundred metres west of conference room nineteen," Hunter confirmed to Daisy.

"Cameron?"

"David Cameron. British Prime Minister? No?"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"That's only because you're a naïve little Yank, aren't y-"

"Mothertrucker reporting for duty," Mack interjected cheerfully from beside Hunter.

"Oh I get it, like a Mack truck. Very tongue-in-cheek. I love it."

"Okay, enough with the codename chit-chat," Daisy scolded them lightly from the Zephyr One control room. "I need you two to keep an eye out for any suspicious IT personnel who might've detected the breach somehow. Play it cool, just use the foreign talent scout covers I assigned to you. Make sure they don't interrupt the meeting. Hunter, you'll be Nicholas Blood. Mack, you'll be Henry Simmons. Both of you are here to size up any promising employees and bring 'em back to the motherland to work with the CIA, understood?"

"Roger that."

"Yes ma'am."

"And guys?"

"Yeah?"

"It's codenames only from here on out. We're making the switch to Hydra wartime channels for proximity convenience, and anyone could be listening. Changing in three, two, one..."

They all jumped at static crunched deafeningly in their ears.

"Sorry. Terrible reception, but it'll do," Daisy told them as she adjusted the audio settings.

"Understood, Q," Hunter replied, rubbing his earlobe between two fingers with a pout.

* * *

"So as you can see, the ring daggers are fully magnetised for maximum user-friendly interaction. The boomerang function is inspired by my b- my company's baton technology. All trials have been largely successful so far," Bobbi purred to the businesspeople surrounding her as May translated in an uncharacteristically pleasant voice.

" _We have seen this technology before_ ," a pale young man in a spotless white business shirt told May in Korean. " _It was used against a very special agent some time ago_."

" _So do we have a deal_?" May replied anxiously with a tight smile in the same pleasant tones.

A middle-aged woman with a severe expression seated at the head of the table gave her a matching tight smile and answered, " _We are very interested in seeing what your company has to offer us at Hydra. After some deliberation, I would like to offer Mind, Body and Seoul Technology a long-term position as a collaborator with Hydra. I feel that our businesses see eye-to-eye on the ever-growing weapons industry._ "

A seedy-looking elderly man in a crisp Armani suit winked at Morse across the room.

Suppressing a cringe, Bobbi smiled back at the woman warmly. "Why of course."

They both sighed with relief after politely bowing to and farewelling each person as they left the room.

"Q, this is Pilot. Stage one of Nye Retrieval has been accomplished. Preparing for debrief," May said quietly into the comms.

"Roger that, Pilot and Mockingbird. Initiating stage two," Daisy replied with a little smile. "Hydra won't know what hit them."


	19. To Know The Worst

**_A/N: Holy cow, chapter nineteen. Never thought this fic would survive this long! It certainly wouldn't have if not for you guys :)_** ** _Here, FitzSimmons continue their descent into darkness, Ward finds a whole new way to make them suffer and Tallis has a sick sense of humour (not to mention awful comedic timing). And e_** _ _ **nter Dr Andrew Garner with a twist. Enjoy!**__

* * *

 _…_ _whatever anguish of spirit it may cost,_

 _I am willing to know the whole truth;_

 _to know the worst and provide for it._

\- Patrick Henry

* * *

Fitz sighed deeply for the hundredth time from his side of the cell, pressing every ounce of air from his lungs with a whooshing noise. Simmons loved every muscle striation in his being, but all the dramatic sighing was starting to get irritating. No matter how much you loved someone, they would inevitably get on your nerves after two months together in a tiny cell. Ward had finally allowed them access to showers, clean clothes and sparse food rations on good behaviour – which he defined as remaining silent and doing as they were told. Fitz wasn't sure whether they were pretending to co-operate or if they had actually been broken in, like the most stubborn pair of Doc Martens to have the misfortune of being trampled beneath Ward's feet. _A bit of both_ , he spat mentally, the words forming with venom. Another whoosh of a sigh rattled through his lungs, barely registering in his irreparably sleep-deprived state.

"Can you stop that?" Simmons blurted, sounding more shrill than she would like.

"What?" he demanded irritably.

"Stop with the bloody sighing! You've been doing it over and over for hours today."

Fitz turned to glare in her general direction. There she was, sipping mineral water through a plastic straw like nothing was wrong. He had tried, you know. He had really tried to stay positive. To convince himself that _hey, he actually looks quite good with a beard. Isn't being stuck with Simmons in a tiny room nice? Isn't this the ruddy well precious alone time he always wanted with her?_

The engineer scoffed and turned away as Ward stepped through the corridor to face them from behind the glass.

"Hey," the man said casually, voice mechanical and tinny as it was distorted through the microphone.

FitzSimmons glared at him icily. His attempt to normalise – trivialise, even – their situation was not appreciated. Sure, the added conveniences - clean water was _definitely_ a convenience at this point - were nice, but every time they started to become grateful, they remembered where they were.

"So I've got someone I want you to meet. Well, technically, you already know him. I took it upon myself to make a few... improvements."

There was a reckless edge to his voice that sent shivers down Simmons' spine. He was like a rare and unstable isotope ready to wreak destruction on every living thing in its radius.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in an immaculate navy suit and polished ebony skin entered their cell with a similar air; his grin both wide and unsettling to them both.

"I'm Dr Andrew Garner, professor of Psychology at Culver University. I'm also a licensed psychiatrist. You might remember me from my time working with SHIELD. Although I haven't been in practice for some years now, I'm sure it will be quite a pleasure working with you," he stated, holding that same unnerving glint in his eyes.

Ward stepped back and observed the scene before him with a measure of satisfaction. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it, Dr Garner. Enjoy them."

* * *

Simmons jumped slightly as he slammed the door shut behind him.

 _Steel yourself, Jemma. Play along._

"Dr Garner, it's good to see you. You seem - different. How's Hydra treating you?" she began cordially with her hands behind her back, where Fitz could see them trembling like the earth around a fault line.

"It's everything I ever wanted," he replied slowly, tasting each word in his mouth with a disarmingly serene expression as he slipped a new page into his clipboard.

 _It's strange_ , Simmons thought. _He's still quite warm; quite 'Andrew', and yet..._

"Did the director... reward your compliance in being here, by any chance?" she asked carefully.

Dr Garner's eyes latched onto hers intensely. "That's an interesting choice of words, Jemma," he replied softly, evading the question with the practiced ease of a professional.

"Yeah," Fitz agreed. His voice sounded strange – choked, and distant somehow. _Why did he bring us a bloody shrink, anyway_? he wondered silently. _Is this some brand new way for Ward to make us suffer?_

The psychiatrist scribbled something down, and turned to him with great curiosity. "And how might you be feeling today, Fitz?" he asked in the same buttery tones.

Fitz all but flinched at the question. If anything was worse than talking about his feelings with Simmons, it was talking about them with someone trained to listen to them and make judgements accordingly.

"Um, fine. Fine as I could be, for a prisoner. You know," he muttered in reply.

Dr Garner flashed him a brilliant white smile full of pearly, straight-set teeth. "I do know," he responded brightly, like a child praised for their achievements. He wrote down a few lines at a measured, calm pace.

"That is some impressive dental work," Simmons blurted before covering her mouth with a hand. "Oh God, I just meant-"

"It's okay, Jemma. Compliments are a trait of positive thinking. Positive thinking is key in your situation."

She smiled tightly. "Right."

"It is my understanding that you two are quite the inseparable pair. So tell me a bit about what if felt like to-"

"Why are you here?" Fitz demanded abruptly. "Why did Ward bring you, a shrink, to get inside our heads? Is this some kind of entertainment for him? Causing us physical pain, then cementing it with some kind of mental health hopscotch?

The psychiatrist did not respond, and instead scribbled down another line on the page and underlined it twice.

"And what are you writing on there, anyway?" the engineer added.

"Note-taking," Dr Garner replied, as cool and collected as ever. "And if you must know, Director Ward feels that you two are in need of my expertise. There's some important work ahead, as he might have informed you previously, and it's my job to make sure you are in the right state of mind to do it properly. Does that make sense?"

His voice dripped with condescension Simmons hadn't heard in him before, and her gut twisted with distaste.

"Crystal clear," Fitz replied, his tone laid thickly with the same vitriol she felt.

"Wonderful."

Simmons shuffled closer to him, and her fellow captive wrapped a protective arm around her. More scribbling sounded against paper following this simple move.

"As I was saying," Dr Garner began, "what was it like to be separated? Jemma, you go first. You're a smart girl."

He made brief pointed eye contact with Fitz, as if to say it wasn't very smart of him to interrupt earlier.

 _Might as well co-operate. Oh, what the hell_ , she thought.

"At first I was fine. I guess it hadn't really sunk in. I was more concentrated on the pain from my concussion and the fact that I'd been abducted from my mobile workplace, which was meant to be one of the most defendable places in the world."

Fitz squeezed her shoulder instinctively in the silence between her words. She took a thoughtful breath, grounded herself, and continued.

"Then it felt like... emptiness. Like when you're sick, and you don't want to eat, but you can feel the nothingness in your stomach. A gnawing absence of sustenance despite everything else going on in the body. Fitz has always been a part of what gets me through each day, whether I was aware of it at the time or not. We'd only recently grown much closer – the, uh, _cosmos_ – had made it quite difficult for our relationship to grow and develop. Certainly not in what I would consider to be a healthy way. So we made do."

Dr Garner wrote down a short paragraph of notes, circling words as he went.

"And now we're here. Ward brought him back to me. I suppose I should be thankful," she added quietly, not without a hint of sarcasm.

"I suppose you should," the psychiatrist muttered.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing. Just thinking out loud to myself."

She could have sworn he had agreed with her. That she should take what she got with open arms and a smile, despite her situation. Simmons felt her blood begin to simmer again, bubbling against her skin angrily. He had no idea what she had been through. What they had been through together, and alone.

* * *

"And what about you?" Dr Garner asked, turning back to Fitz once more. "What was it like?"

"What do you think it was like?" the engineer snapped unpleasantly.

He looked away for a moment, regretting his tone of voice almost immediately.

"It wasn't... fun. To say the very least. Simmons probably said it better than I ever could, it was like – like being pumped full of poison, but you feel so empty you'd take anything that was given to you at that point. And so the toxin builds and builds inside of you until you find yourself unable to recognise what you've become. That's what it felt like."

The psychiatrist raised his eyebrows in surprise and nodded slowly, as if he was trying to absorb every last letter of what he had said.

"Good."

Fitz retracted his arm from Simmons again, unsettled by the mans peaking to them. They both contracted their bodies, bring their knees up under their chins and hugged their legs tightly.

"Good," he repeated, more firmly this time. "We're making real progress."

 _So 'progress' is us succumbing to our fear of vulnerability in front of him. Nice_ , Simmons thought bitterly.

"You know what's wrong with you, Jemma?" Dr Garner said, the rhetoric hanging in the air and shining a little too brightly for comfort. "You're much too self-aware. It's giving you anxiety. It always has. You feel the need to compulsively analyse everything that goes on around you, labelling it and pressing it down into a neat little box inside your head behind your little wall of positivity. And the worst part is – you do it to _yourself_. You're not fooling anyone."

She frowned. What did he think he was doing? She never asked for his opinion. He was being morally destructive. That was the literal opposite of what therapists were meant to do.

"And you, Fitz. You're damaged goods, and everyone knows it. I see you like you see yourself; a wounded animal baring its teeth."

Fitz clenched his jaw at the familiar words he had used to describe himself during the drownings.

"And you know what? It's just pathetic. Everything about you offends me. Clinging to your doctorate like a child clings to his mother. You let your work define you, _become_ you. Sooner or later, there's going to be nothing left. I'm not sure there still is any of the Fitz I heard about from the Academy inside you. You're just... nothing, now."

His words hit Fitz like a sucker punch to the gut. The engineer turned to Simmons helplessly, wetness prickling the backs of his eyes and threatening to pool in his tear ducts. She shook her head in despair. _I don't know. I'm sorry,_ she seemed to be saying.

"You see, that's just it right there. You're both so disgustingly codependent on each other, like symbiotic creatures. So my last question for you today, and before you begin your treatment with Tallis shortly, is this: whose fault is it really for you two being here?"

With a click of his pen and a flourish of clothing, Dr Garner shut the door behind himself and made his way into the hallway.

"Treatment?" Simmons repeated dumbly. "What treatment?"

And then Tallis appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and was dragging Fitz back into the interrogation room in one arm, Simmons in the other.

"I hope you two conducted yourselves well in that session," the guard rasped huskily. "I have no doubt you'll conduct very well soon."

They didn't know what he was talking about until they saw the electric chair waiting on the other side of the room.


	20. Looking For Trouble

**_A/N: Bring on chapter twenty (oh my word,_** ** _twenty_** ** _)! Here Maykingbird give their first report, and there's something not quite right with Daisy... Welcome to the new longest chapter in TSAGP history!_**

* * *

 _I don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me._

–- J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

* * *

It was an odd scene. They were decked out in their full business pantsuits, May frowning slightly something the blonde was holding with a delicate hand while seated awkwardly on a dollar store picnic rug by the river in Gangnam. Young girls with shiny hair in modest school uniforms held hands for balance as they hopped across the crossing stones to the bus stop, chattering animatedly about the rankings from their last set of exams. Tourists lined the shopfronts, snapping happily away with their shiny iPhones while the two agents talked to a piece of paper. Hoping against hope that no one would suspect what they were doing – which was, of course, what had to be done. Needless to say, they felt extremely out of place.

"That is by far the stupidest password I've ever heard," May could be heard grumbling quietly to the team through the comms.

Faint laughter came from Mack and Hunter. Bobbi rolled her eyes at all of them.

"Groan to Daisy about it later. Now if you please..."

May glared at her with no real venom and snatched the communication device disguised as a tourist map from her hands.

"Fish tacos."

The holographic recorder appeared on the laminated card as she began the report.

"Log zero-zero-one, for classified SHIELD channel Bravo Sierra Victor thirty-three. Report by Mockingbird and Pilot, team name the Maykingbird Duo, for Nye Retrieval at Samsung headquarters in Seoul."

Bobbi nodded appreciatively and took the card from her to continue in satisfied tones.

"We were able to make contact with Hydra representatives and they have signed off on the deal. Requesting permission to make good on said deal to establish the cover. Q gave us the all clear to initiate Stage Two – just waiting for confirmation from you, Director."

May wrinkled her nose slightly in distaste before straightening out her facial expression, returning to her mask of aloof professionalism.

"Fish tacos."

They both exhaled in relief after having completed and sent the first report without anyone spotting them. There had been missions where either of them had not been so fortunate. As they made their way back into the chilled reprieve of the air-conditioned office building, they didn't see a skinny male employee exiting the IT department with thick-rimmed glasses eyeing Bobbi as she carefully folded the card into her purse.

* * *

"Brittany, Seohyun-ssi, if you'll follow me please. Your new offices are right this way," a smiling, bright-eyed secretary told them in perfect American-accented English. "I think you'll find them... sufficient. We made arrangements so you could work within metres from each other, but if you want to move somewhere else, just tell me and I'll make it happen. Feel free to let us know if you have any additional requirements to commence your work."

"Thank you, Jiyoon," Bobbi replied with a little smile of her own as her new friend left the room, the tiny clicks of her pumps echoing through the hallway.

May and Morse looked around with impressed faces. They had two separate offices with shiny new engraving and gold name plaques sitting in the centre of their tempered glass desks, each with matching Linux computers.

"Is that a holographic phone?" Bobbi exclaimed incredulously from her office, tapping the on button of the little bar of technology with satisfaction as a hologram number pad appeared, glowing proudly on the surface of her desk.

"Glad to hear you like your new office."

She whipped around to the source of the voice. It was none other than the CEO Kangwoo himself, immaculately presented with a calm expression similar to what she always saw on May.

"Kangwoo-nim, it's very kind of you to come down here. Lee Seohyun-unnie and I are settling in very nicely thanks to your generosity."

"Excellent. Any questions?"

 _The man doesn't waste time_ , Bobbi mused.

"Yeah, actually. I, uh, I heard from one of the secretaries about some rival scientists. Dr Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz? You wouldn't happen to know where they might be, would you? I'm sure they'd make a wonderful acquisition to the company-"

"Fitz and Simmons have no agreements with us, and we are unable to contact them at this time. I do, however, know they are about to begin working on something very important. Wherever they are, I believe they will stay for a very long time," he replied pointedly, but seemed to believe she was simply curious about office gossip.

"Thank you for your time," Bobbi replied, both of them bowing before he left the room without another word. "He's an intimidating man, that one," she said into the comms. "But he sure as hell as good taste in furniture, so it doesn't really matter."

The quality of resources was not lost on May, who nodded approvingly.

"I could get used to this," she said almost happily into the comms from her neighbouring office.

"You shouldn't," Daisy reminded her from Zephyr One.

* * *

The hacker sat back in her chair, fatigued from the workload. She had to play God and look out for Mack, Hunter, Bobbi and May, record all major actions taken for SHIELD, update Coulson at the end of the day and was currently working on hacking security to get them through the archive room door without leaving a trace because they weren't able to get clearance with their cover positions. Korean security was a lot more advanced than anything Daisy was accustomed to working with, and it made her job that much harder. And she was fuming about Ward's second betrayal on top of that. She didn't know what she was going to do if they couldn't catch him. _Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me_ , she thought angrily. A frown remained set on her face as Coulson sat down behind her.

"You doing okay, Daisy?" the director asked with concern. "You haven't left the command centre in the past forty-eight hours except to shower, eat or use the washroom."

"O Captain, my Captain," she sighed, spinning around in her chair.

"You want to tell me what's putting the frown on your face?"

Daisy pursed her lips, a habit she had picked up from her Supervising Officer.

"I've got a lot on my mind," she replied cryptically after a beat.

"No doubt we all do," he agreed. "Anything I should be worried about?"

"What's that supposed to mean? You think I'm going nuts or something?"

"That's not what I meant at all, but it's interesting you should come to that conclusion. You seem a little trapped in your head these days."

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, then got up and poured herself some orange juice.

"You want some?"

"Ah, I'm cutting sugar for a couple weeks. You go ahead though."

"Right."

The familiar sound of her tapping and clicking away at the workstation resumed, and Coulson left her to her work for a while, the warm red of the walls and green lights from the computers surrounding her reflecting on her face. He sat there in silence, observing her subtler gestures and every quiet grunt of frustration when her code wouldn't run. As she cursed every semicolon in existence when she accidentally missed one – a shamefully basic error, even after all these years of experience. Watching her unfold a little every time she thought her program had spit out the calculation she needed, only to use the simulator and find out she had failed again.

"So are you going to talk, or should I go fret about someone else?" he asked again, firmer this time.

She spun around to look him in the eye.

"Fine. I've been hitting roadblocks at just about every turn, babysitting the team from my invisible place in the sky and lowkey plotting Ward's murder. Nothing you really need to be concerned about. Normal stuff," Daisy replied with bone-dry humour.

"Really?"

"Really. Drowning, burning him at the stake, plain ol' shooting... I've been through 'em all in my mind. Sometimes I wonder if he even deserves death. Maybe we should just let him live with the consequences."

Coulson quirked an eyebrow.

"Sounds like you've been fixating on this for a while. Obsessing, even."

"I wouldn't go that far," she corrected him quickly. "It's been on my mind for a while, yes, but I bet it's been on everyone else's mind as well. I can't believe he would do that to FitzSimmons. Something that awful... after everything else he's done. He is the epitome of the reason they probably can't sleep at night."

He fell silent, and crossed his arms across his once-carved chest. It was nothing he hadn't dwelled on himself, but it sounded sadder coming out of her mouth. Once the words met the air, it all became more real. Coulson would do anything to have been able to say that none of it was real. That Ward had never laid a hand on either of them. That they could just get on with their work.

"Not that I would know how they are. I haven't seen them in two months," she added.

He studied her for a moment.

"Something's changed in you, Daisy. You've changed before, but you've changed again. You'll tell me if you start to feel like things are getting too much?"

She smiled brightly at him, and alarm bells went off in Coulson's head as he observed the tension in her facial muscles lying beneath the gesture.

"Of course. You can trust me."

He lingered outside the door for a few seconds, and almost immediately the floor shivered as she slammed waves of energy uncharacteristically into the benchtop in frustration. The Daisy he knew and worked with was usually able to control her emotions, and certainly would never threaten the integrity of the plane with her abilities unless it was absolutely necessary.

 _Something is different_ , he worried to himself. _Something is wrong_.

* * *

" _Oh Kangwoo-nim_?" the head of the IT department asked timidly, knocking on the CEO's door. " _I have something I wish to report_."

" _Come in, Minjoon-ah_ ," a booming voice replied from within the closed-off palace that was the CEO's office.

"Wae sani? _What's on your mind_?" Kangwoo asked.

The man had cheekbones cut from steel, thick black hair that had been slicked to the side in a trendy manner and a regal air about him, complemented perfectly by his creaseless and starched custom-made designer suit. Minjoon sat on his hands, squirming slightly in the plush leather seat under his piercing chocolate gaze.

" _There was a Westerner and a chaebol's wife walking back from lunch time, sir. I saw the blonde lady discreetly return a piece of paper to her purse. At first, I thought it was a tourist map, but I looked closer and saw a very... distinctive feature_."

Kangwoo clasped his hands slowly and leaned forward in interest.

" _A Westerner and a chaebol's wife, you say? Continue_." he told the anxious employee.

" _Well you see, sir, as the head of information technology at Samsung I have seen many different design patents from many different companies_."

" _Do get to the point, Minjoon-ah_ ," the CEO intercepted with a hint of annoyance colouring his unnervingly calm tones.

" _Of course. Based on their accented speech, I believe it belonged to an American company. One whose structural design I am not familiar with. It could be the property of a private sector company, sir. I looked online and even asked around on international forums, but no one seems to recognise the technology. All public businesses have openly accessable patents on their technologies, but I was unable to find one for this particular item despite my best efforts. I thought this may be of interest to you._ "

A smile spread across Kangwoo's face and perfectly even dimples appeared, giving him a certain boyish charm that he had always found useful in getting clients to trust him.

" _Thank you. And that's all I need to know_?"

" _That's all I could determine, sir. I will see myself out_."

The tiny man gave him a little smile in return, relaxing a little.

" _Minjoon-ah_?" Kangwoo called after him.

He turned around in surprise.

" _Yes_?"

" _Be careful. This American company you told me of... I do not know if they can be trusted_."

Minjoon paused for a moment, before licking his lips and reaching for the doorknob.

" _Understood, sir._ "

" _And Minjoon-ah? You're the head of a department, so you shouldn't feel afraid to call things as they are. We might be Samsung to the outside world, but inside these walls, we are Hydra._ "

 _"Yes, sir_."

He shut the door with a quiet click and disappeared into the shadowy halls of the building.

* * *

Somewhere along the line, after May and Bobbi had sent all the required emails of interest to technology companies from around the world, their entire department had dragged them to a local tteokbokki restaurant and they found themselves waiting for drinks together. Bobbi took initiative in deciding to form a few friendships to avoid seeming awkward.

"Hi, I'm Brittany," she said brightly, extending a hand towards the petite girl with large round glasses in the seat next to her.

The girl stared at her hand like it was a foreign object and bowed slightly, murmuring, "Pangapsumnida. _Nice to meet you_."

Bobbi continued to smile awkwardly, not understanding the phrase. The girl turned to talk animatedly with the guy next to her, nodding and waving her hands emphatically as they discussed something she couldn't understand. May pretended to text someone, but took notes on their entire conversation before translating them and sending them to Daisy for the log.

"Hi, Brittany. Sorry, my sister Juhee doesn't really speak English," the man told her apologetically in a slightly British-accented voice. "You must be one of the new employees to the scouting department. I'm Juwon Song."

They shook hands briefly, and she found herself relieved to be hearing fluent English again. The agent carefully studied the man who had spoken to her – fashionably dressed, yet work-appropriate. Obviously well-educated abroad to have the job as well as that all-too-familiar accent. She was surrounded by people with remarkably different physical features and mannerisms to her, and found herself once again feeling extremely out of place. She hadn't expected to stick out quite so much, and it occurred to her that she had never felt singled out because of her race in her entire life. She'd done missions in Asia before, but there had always been ambassadors or diplomats there of a similar ethnicity to hers, or who at least spoke good English. Never before had she been so deeply undercover so far away from home. It made Bobbi a bit uncomfortable, thinking about what any one of her new peers would have to go through in trying to fit in to the society she was simply born into. Learning the nuances of different languages in order to graduate high school where it was only an optional skill for her, having to learn about a completely different culture where she had always assumed people would just learn about hers. Still, she was glad to be able to understand someone. _Should've taken Korean Studies at the Academy_ , Bobbi thought to herself with a measure of regret. It's not like she didn't try herself, though. She had simply assumed that like the Western world, already being extensively familiar with Chinese and Japanese culture, that that familiarity would allow her a level of understanding of Korean culture as well. Like going from Australia to New Zealand. Boy, had she been wrong. The blonde agent started to wish she had taken May up on her offer to lend her a book on the local culture.

May tucked away her phone gracefully and brought her elbows up to rest on the tabletop with ease, slotting in effortlessly with the people around her. She thanked the waiter politely and helped to pass out the shotglasses, pouring everyone a precise standard drink of warm soju, but the blonde knew she would listen in carefully to any conversations they had.

"So, Juwon," Bobbi began casually, "how long have you worked for Samsung?"

"Not long at all, actually. Maybe three years? Or it will be in a few months," he replied, draining his drink in one go.

She tried not to look surprised as he continued to throw them back on an empty stomach and they seemed to have very little effect on him. The bottle had said it was twenty-five percent alcohol.

"Does everyone drink like that?" she asked delicately, pulling a face at the harsh burn of the drink.

"Oh, yeah. It's quite commonplace in Korea for the workers to drink together every other week, sometimes more. It's said to encourage co-operation and a friendly atmosphere between employees – but between you and me, I think everyone just wants to get hammered."

Bobbi laughed lightly in response.

"You're funny, Juwon," she told him with a smile.

The rice cakes arrived, sizzling viciously on their grill plates.

"Ah, masitda," Juwon sighed happily as they prepared to tuck in.

"What does that mean?" Bobbi asked.

He turned to face her with an enigmatic twinkle in his eye.

"It means that the food looks delicious, and that I am happy to be with people I can trust."

Her face went dead serious at the implication of his words, but he didn't seem to notice as he proceeded to pile food on his sister's plate, and then his own.

"Other than my family of course," he added, smiling at his younger sister taking a selfie beside him. "Do you want some? It's pretty spicy here, even for my standards, so let me know if you want any milk. I always bring some when we eat spicy food."

She politely held out her plate to him, as that seemed to be the expected thing to do.

"May?" Bobbi whispered, nudging her partner's arm.

"Yeah, what?"

"Can we trust these people?"

May fell silent for a moment, contemplating her answer.

"You've been undercover at Hydra before. Never trust anyone."

She sank a little in her chair, before trying the rice cakes cautiously. They were delicious and very spicy, but not too spicy. Looking at Juwon and his sister Juhee totally engrossed in their discussion of her new phone and the improvements Juhee had made, she couldn't help being reminded of FitzSimmons. Such intelligent, kind and innocent people, and she had to betray them. And as they all bid each other goodnight, she thought to herself, _This is how Ward felt_. _Ready to spring forth from the shadows of our cover and stab them in the back._

When her job was done, there would be no more work for bright young people like Juwon and Juhee to bicker over playfully. Kangwoo would be fired, and the building razed to the ground with everything inside it. It would be painted as one of the greatest tragedies in the age of technology. It would take years of charity events and hard work to rebuild what had been lost, and all the employees would be out of a job. All while she sipped champagne with her fellow agents and celebrated a successful mission from a plane with seemingly infinite funding.

But first, she had to get what she came for. Bobbi and May allowed a couple of women to walk her to the street for a taxi, before quickly backtracking to the office.

"Q, do your thing," she said with faint slur into the comms.

"Mockingbird, have you been drinking?" the hacker replied in earnest as the doors slid open for her.

"Sure have, my love."

Bobbi switched on the flashlight and waved May through, who nodded and followed her silently, hand on her concealed gun the whole time.

"Open sesame," the blonde said, and sure enough the archive room door beeped happily and swung open.

They looked around briefly before the glint of metal caught their eye at the very back of the room. Moving closer to investigate, May lowered her hand from her weapon in shock and Bobbi shook her head in disbelief.

"Well, I'll be damned, Q," she said into the comms with an amused tone. "That is a _very_ nice hammer."


	21. The Sky Is Empty

**_A/N: Welcome to chapter twenty-one, where_** ** _everything goes to hell for our favourite scientists. Warning: contains graphic descriptions of wounds and another torture scene. But FitzSimmons have a plan, and where there's a will... you know the rest. Thanks to all my new German readers! Love you long time :*_**

 ** _Props to Neuronerd for the wonderfully comprehensive reviews and for a particular phrase I've been waiting for several chapters to use. Thank you._**

* * *

 _I talk to God but the sky is empty._

\- Sylvia Plath

* * *

Cold, empty silence filled the interrogation room as they sat there in the electric chairs, bound once again by chains and fear. At this point, an extra centimetre of wiggle room could be considered freedom. Fitz and Simmons observed the dirty dishwater grey of the walls and the icy steel of their restraints. The familiar world of darkness and cold had enveloped them entirely, it seemed. They watched in wordless anticipation as Tallis cleaned his rotting teeth with his tongue in glee, while he set up the cables necessary to fry them into submission.

"Do you know what this is?" Ward asked, striding into the room as one might stroll down the road in front of their house with a curious item in hand.

" _Mjӧlnir_ ," Simmons breathed in awe, eyes wide like moons.

In his wiry fist he held a large, rectangle-shaped hammer that seemed to glow in the dimness of the room. It was made up of an ethereal blue-silver metal covered in thousands of minute Asgardian carvings. Words and tales from a world they could not fathom or reach. The captive scientists found themselves transfixed by its visual modality; the inexplicable way it shone like the aurora borealis on a clear night.

"I mean, technically it's a replica," he began with no less satisfaction. "The real hammer of Thor is sitting patiently in one of Hydra's most secure and deeply undercover bases – raw potential waiting to be tapped. So naturally, we tapped it."

Ward ignored the burn of Fitz's glare on the back of his head and continued as he paced slowly around the room.

"We were able to scan it into a state-of-the-art 3-D printer that we, uh, _borrowed_ from Stark during a little visit. Turns out that once you copy this thing, you don't have to be the king of Asgard to wield it. And now, we have our own version of it."

"Please tell me you didn't give it a name," Fitz snarked from his chair.

The Hydra director grinned.

"We call it an ӕvilok."

Simmons frowned.

" _An_? There's more than one?"

"Oh, there will be. I've only had this thing for-"

Ward paused mid-sentence and whistled comically. "Two days? And I'm already in love with it. Do you either of you intelligent people know what ӕvilok means?"

"It means 'end of life'," Simmons replied without missing a beat.

Fitz turned to her in surprise.

"What? I learned Icelandic so I could attend one of Kári Stefánsson's lectures in my Year Nine summer break," she replied.

"Of course you did. And what exactly did he do?"

"You're joking."

"Am I really?"

"Dr Stefánsson founded DeCODE Genetics in nineteen ninety-six to combat privacy concerns – given the nature of the large public healthcare database in Iceland at the time – which led to the discovery of the neuregulin-1 gene's association with schizophrenia," Simmons finished casually, as if it were widely-known.

"Fascinating," Ward responded sarcastically. "But I don't need that gene to make you go mad, Simmons. I know how much you two love technology. It would be a real shame if I were to – oh, decide to hurt you with that knowledge."

He swung the ӕvilok almost playfully, smacking the hard metal into his palm with a slap that echoed around the room. Then he swung it with great effort towards the chairs' control panel. At first, nothing happened. Fitz and Simmons exchanged uneasy looks. Ward grinned as a faint buzzing noise began to fill the air like the sound of a beehive, and thin tendrils of electricity spindled out from ӕvilok. It grew louder and louder, reverbrating against their eardrums and resonating through their chest cavities until it sounded like a thousand deafening airhorns. One by one, Ward strolled past the control panel, flicking the switches one by one until he came to a large red lever and pulled it. Thunder clapped from the ӕvilok and echoed around the room, crackling from its luminous surface to strike FitzSimmons in their chests. They gasped for air and shrieked in agony as the electricity sizzled through every nerve ending in their bodies, burning like a wildfire until every last sensation died screaming in a biological mess of overstimulation. Gradually the convulsions of their bodies died down, the lightning slowing to a trickle, and then a stop. Tallis stepped forward from a dark corner somewhere and released them from their shackles. The scientists tumbled to the ground in a graceless heap, limp and lifeless and empty rag dolls.

* * *

Fitz was the first to roll over slowly, groaning and wheezing for breath, so he could dry retch at the floor. He didn't dare look at his chest for fear of what he might see; but he looked anyway. What he saw had quite the same effect on him as a terrible car crash – he found himself grossly transfixed by the horror, quite unable to tear his gaze from the destruction before him. With an almost inaudible whimper, Fitz raised his trembling fingers to brush over the skin that had been flayed from his chest by the ӕvilok, his hand coming back saturated in dark blood. He gagged and found himself collapsing back into the floor, quivering against the stone uncontrollably in panic.

Simmons pulled herself up with great effort, grunting with the strain as she rested back on her elbows and looked down at the torn, burnt mess of her already tattered shirt. The hole that met her eyes was the size of an arc reactor and revealed a sight that she immediately wished she hadn't seen. In all of her years working with biological diseases, wounds and infections, she had never seen anything quite like the bloody gaping burn weeping with pus that marred the skin where her pleasantly smooth and pale chest had once been. She knew of no conventional device that could have caused such an injury, such a violationwithin the constraints of the current progress of modern science. Her head swam with the onslaught of thoughts, making her nauseous. Simmons laid back down and allowed herself to be dragged out beside Fitz back to their cell.

* * *

It seemed Ward had taken it upon himself to renovate their cell, and when they were finally able to look around without wanting to hurl, they realised it was almost twice the size it had been before.

"What on Earth?" Fitz murmured.

Together they took in the shiny steel table that sat patiently in the middle of the room, and the brand new wooden shelves tucked neatly into the corner. A gasp escaped Simmons mouth as she looked to the far left of the room, where two single beds stood fully furnished and looking as comfortable as ever. Ward had allowed them basic items, but it felt like pure luxury.

Meanwhile, the inquiring part of her mind writhed with questions she wished she didn't have. Even the most advanced of technologists in the world had to be approximately ten to fifteen years from anything quite so effective, efficient and elegantly designed to do its job. Secret worlds within a secret world, and Ward had easy access to all of it.

Simmons found herself scheming internally.

 _Aim: To escape captivity by gaining Ward's trust and using his resources against him, taking whatever useful intel and technology we can find with us._

 _Equipment: Our wits and a shockingly healthy sense of humour._

 _Method: Gain his trust and commence work on whatever he's wanting us to do. Gather and record as much information as possible on anything of value without raising suspicion. Use The Secret Weapon. Ensure Fitz is on board with all of the above._

* * *

Simmons frowned as Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose habitually in a hybrid of frustration and confusion. They had been whispering intently back and forth so the surveillance cameras wouldn't pick up anything they were saying.

"So you want to do – what, exactly? You want to just do as he says, no matter the cost, no matter the-"

He clicked his fingers repeatedly, searching frantically for the word, but was ultimately unable to find it in the state he was being forced to think in.

"I don't know the word. But it hardly makes sense, Jemma – the man betrays people for a living. It's practically his daily MO," Fitz finished heatedly.

"That may be true, love, but we've got a real chance here. A slim one, mind you, so we've got to agree on all aspects of the plan. Think of the possibilities! We can use our situation, take all this... this _pain_ and this _suffering_ and utilise it for the betterment of SHIELD!" she whisper-shouted.

Fitz shook his head stubbornly.

"You sound absolutely delusional, you know that? This whole operation banks on us being better field agents than actual field agents, as well as us finding a way to not only access information Ward would never expose to us, hide it from surveillance, record it, _and_ somehow communicate it all to the team if at all possible."

She bit her lip. Simmons hated it when he was cynical. As if being the positive one wasn't hard enough already. But she knew as a scientist and as a person, that sometimes cynical is right. Pulling this off was just about as realistic as dinosaurs returning to reign terror on the earth.

"But... it's a solid start, and it's the only real option we have besides murder-suicide or hoping to get saved," he added gently.

A tiny smile spread across her face at his version of positivity.

"You know I trust you, Jemma, you know I do," Fitz continued. "If there's anyone I trust to help get us out of here, it's you. Besides, what do I always say?"

Simmons stifled a small laugh, nearly silent but bubbling and miraculous all the same. His heart soared and nearly stopped at the sound of her laughing again as she completed his sentence.

"Science, biatch."


	22. The Things That Will Destroy You

_**A/N: Here we are at chapter twenty-two! A lot of intense things happen, as per usual.**_ ** _Daisy goes off the deep end, and Bobbi makes a very important friend. Hope you all enjoy it!_**

* * *

 _I desire the things that will destroy me in the end._

\- Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

* * *

No less than a week into their employment undercover at Hydra, May and Bobbi were the talk of the office. Heck, if they weren't the talk of the city. Bobbi had already received two offers for photoshoots with local technology magazines, and May was quickly becoming one of the most respected people in the place. They were chatting idly, reminding each other of who was who in the department when Juwon entered with a smile and a swish of a Burberry coat.

"Hey guys, I've got someone I want you to meet. Brittany, Seohyun-nim, this is Oh Jimin-ssi," spoke Juwon quickly as he shoved a cup of coffee into each of their hands.

Before them in Bobbi's office stood a thin, lean woman in impeccable all-black business attire with a kind, doll-like face, a shiny curtain of black hair and bright eyes. She was no more than nineteen years old, and in her Jimmy Choos she stood almost as tall as Bobbi, which was no easy feat.

Juwon leaned in and added, "She's the CEO's only child. If you want to move up in this place, she's the lady to talk to."

Bobbi gave him a grateful pat on the shoulder, and he turned swiftly on his heel and left her office.

"It's an honour to meet you, Jimin-ssi," she said, bowing as deeply as it was appropriate.

The CEO's daughter smiled obligingly and returned a little graceful bow of her own.

"I am only a child here. The correct suffix for you to address me would be Jimin- _ah_ ," she corrected her gently in slightly accented American English. "But the honour is mine, Miss..."

"Call me Brittany. Sorry, I'm awful at this honorifics business," Bobbi replied with a smile of her own.

"Well, Brittany, I hear you and your friend Mrs Lee have quite the contacts list in America. You have Apple, Microsoft, and Linux at your disposal. Your company has a history which reaches back decades, and yet it has maintained almost total secrecy from the public sector until now. And on top of all that, you managed to swipe a position here after one business deal. Can't say I'm not impressed."

"As Seohyun always says, diligence and highly selective networking will get you places."

Jimin's laughter bubbled around the room, the sound as peaceful as a swan.

"That's about the most Korean thing I've ever heard," she replied, stifling her laughter with a petite, well-manicured hand.

"Absolutely. I've learned a lot from her," Bobbi agreed. "So... I hear you're the lady in charge of people who want to move up in Samsung. And Hydra, of course."

They both sat in the black Italian leather chairs on either side of the desk and crossed their legs in unison.

"Ah," Jimin began. "I see that you are of a higher status than I was initially made aware of. Who initiated you, if I might ask?"

Panic rose in Bobbi's chest as she licked her lips. Her comms came to life as Daisy frantically searched the archives for a Hydra operative that Bobbi would've met at some point. But there was only one.

"It was Oh Kangwoo," Bobbi said without breaking eye contact. "Your father himself initiated us after our inception into the foreign scouting department."

Jimin rose a delicately groomed eyebrow. "I see," she replied almost breathlessly. "I think we'll get along very well, Brittany."

"I do hope so."

Bobbi rose out of her chair and bowed as Jimin left the room, the click of her heels following her down the corridor.

* * *

When Coulson checked in on Daisy again, she was still seated at the computer station in the command centre, the glow of eight monitors the only source of light in her face. Upon closer inspection, she had bitten her nails to the quick, and the flatness of her hair weighed down with natural oils suggested she'd missed her last shower again.

"Hey Daisy."

She appeared to not even have heard him, and continued typing away furiously, hunched over the keyboard in front of her.

"Daisy?" he asked again with concern.

"Mm," she grunted in response.

"How's everything going?"

"Oh, good. Pretty good, actually. Nothing to worry about. Since we got into the archives room all I've had to worry about is monitoring Bobbi and May and feeding them intel when they need it. I'm working on a search engine that'll do all of that for me way more efficiently than searching through strings."

"Right," Coulson replied uncertainly. "And... how are you holding up?"

"I'm fine, Coulson," she said monotonously.

"Mhmm. That's what you said a few days ago, but I get the feeling you haven't left here since we spoke. Maybe even longer than that. I'm starting to get really worried about you, Daisy. You need to take a break, it's not healthy to-"

"I can't take a break!" Daisy exploded suddenly. She looked down in self-awareness almost immediately, and spoke again in much gentler tones. "I can't take breaks when FitzSimmons are out there getting tortured and forced to do God knows what for Hydra. I can't let that happen."

"And you won't. Everyone knows how hard you're trying."

"Yet I've got nothing in a whole week of searching the archives for something useful. A whole week of _nothing_."

Coulson sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Everyone is trying their best, sweetheart, and sometimes that's all you can do. Whatever we can find, we'll find it when we're ready."

"Do you not understand?" Daisy hissed in a frighteningly quiet voice. "Two of my best friends are rotting away in a prison right now and you're congratulating me for participating! Ward needs to _die_. He's betrayed us before, and he betrayed us again. And he won't stop until he's six feet under the ground. You hear me? We need to get rid of him! And instead you have me sitting around running back end like every other mission these days because you think I'm a precious little cinnamon roll that needs to be protected or something."

"That's not true. I've just been concerned about your mental health-"

"And what for, Doc? Is this a cover-up so you have a nicer reason to get rid of me? Am I not doing a good enough job? Why don't you just say it to my _face_?"

She exhaled heavily in frustration and clenched her fists as the tables quivered slightly with her rage. Coulson eyed the door from his peripheral vision in real concern.

"Daisy, you need to calm down. All that anger, all that hurt – you need to focus that on finding them. Find that helicarrier. If I know FitzSimmons, they've got a plan. And we need to find them before Ward finds out what that plan is."

"Damn _right_ we do! Let me..."

She trailed off in a sad haze. "Just let me work on this in peace. No more pity visits. No more shrinking my head. _Please_."

Coulson nodded slowly, and left the room. He shook his head in disbelief at the conversation he'd just had as he made his way back to his office on Zephyr One when a status monitor caught his eye.

 _CARGO HOLD OPENING._

 _WARNING: OPENING THE CARGO HOLD IN FLIGHT-READY MODE WILL COMPROMISE CLOAKING._

Confusion filled him as he switched on the surveillance cameras, and to his horror saw Daisy running out of the plane and into the Samsung building with a pistol in her belt.

"Goddammit, Daisy," he muttered under his breath as he sprinted for the cargo hold.

* * *

"You know, I'm actually getting quite fond of the view," Bobbi stated happily into her kimbap. The sky was partially obscured by fluffy summer clouds, combining in a picturesque dreamland with the slow-trickling river. Elegantly groomed trees lined the riverside, gently swaying in the breeze. The blonde agent looked over in surprise to see half a smile lighting up May's face.

"That is another view I could definitely get used to."

May rolled her eyes somewhat affectionately.

"Fish tacos."

As expected, the card lit up and the SHIELD logo appeared on the holographic recorder.

"Log zero-zero-six, for classified SHIELD channel Bravo Sierra Victor thirty-three. Report by Mockingbird and Pilot, team name the Maykingbird Duo, for Nye Retrieval at Samsung headquarters in Seoul."

Bobbi took the card from her outstretched hand the way they had been doing for the past week.

"Mockingbird here for Stage Two progress report. It's been a successful day, sir. May has been making herself an incredible cover as the head international business representative. Employees part like the proverbial Red Sea when she walks past. You'd never know she didn't have twenty-four years of experience in the business. As for myself, I established a very important contact today. Her name's Oh Jimin – Kangwoo's only child. About nineteen years old, deprived of a chance to go to university by her father, who wanted her to go into the family business. Also, requesting an update on back-end. How's Daisy? I think that's it. You know what to do, Pilot."

"Fish tacos."

* * *

Minjoon sighed with relief as he took off his jacket, rolled it up neatly and stuffed it into the corner of his briefcase. It had been a long day. Five minutes before his shift even started, he'd received an email that the archives had been breached by an external source with permission – which didn't even make sense. External sources don't get permission. After taking careful inventory and checking for bugs, he wrote it off as a glitch and filed the report with a scowl. At lunchtime, one of his colleagues wasn't looking where she was going and spilled half of her coffee on his new shirt. So understandably, he was in a hurry to get back to his apartment – and didn't see the silhouette behind him as he found himself tumbling down the stairs, bumping and rolling until a crack echoed through the stairwell.

The next morning, office security heard a lady screaming. When they ran to the source of the sound, they found a young, much disturbed Juhee clutching the sides of her face in distress.

" _He – he's just laying there_ ," she told them in a tiny, quivering voice. " _I was only going to grab beans for the coffee machine, and I found him here. I nearly tripped over him_."

" _Please remain calm and allow us to sort this out_ ," a security officer reassured her in calm tones.

" _Who could have done this? Minjoon-nim was the nicest superior I know. Everyone in the office loves him. Why would anyone do such a thing_?"

" _We don't know, ma'am. We'll call the police and start an investigation_."

" _Yes, sir. I suppose I should go to the station now_."

" _That would be best_."

* * *

"Daisy?" Coulson called into the sweltering heat, squinting right and left to search for any sign of where she had gone. "Daisy," he repeated into the comms. "Daisy come in, or so help me God, I will-"

"Coulson," Daisy replied breathlessly as she appeared behind him with a huge smile on her face. "I'm fine. Just needed some air. I'm okay now."

Coulson frowned in suspicion, but was glad she had returned in one piece without doing anything stupid.

"Let's go," she told him, and they climbed back up the ramp together.

Daisy sat back down at her station in the command centre with a grin and reached for her headset microphone.

"Mockingbird, Pilot, this is Q. I'm joining you in the field in twenty-four hours. I found a way in."

There was a small pause as Bobbi and May processed this.

"What are you talking about? Who ordered this?" Bobbi asked in confusion.

"Coulson's orders," Daisy replied simply.

"But I thought he had you-"

"-running back end, yeah. He changed his mind. Like I said, I found a way in. You're talking to the new head of the IT department."

There was another pause.

"Well, welcome to the field, Q," May replied. "Introductions shouldn't take long, and things will be easier this way anyway. You can cover up any discrepancies that are made from here on out. Frankly, he should've made the call earlier."

Daisy beamed at her mic.

"I'll see you both at zero-seven-hundred tomorrow morning."

"See you then," Bobbi said before switching off her mic. "You know, I have a weird feeling about this," she said to May. "Minjoon passed away this morning, and suddenly Daisy's next-in-line. It feels engineered somehow."

May nodded.

"Of course it was engineered. You heard what she said – Coulson's orders. He obviously thinks she needs to be on the ground. And besides, she can still retrieve what she needs to from the IT department. Heck, she has access to all kinds of things now. It's a solid plan."

"Still..." Bobbi protested. "Something feels off."

"I'm sure she's just eager to come back into the field. Back end can make you feel kind of crazy after a while."

"I guess you're right," Bobbi admitted eventually.

* * *

Oh Kangwoo blew gently into his green tea as the morning news came on, crossing one leather dress shoe over the other on his desk.

" _At roughly six-thirty pm yesterday a man was discovered dead at the bottom of a stairwell at Samsung HQ in Gangnam. He has been identified as Kim Minjoon, who was the head of the IT department. No statements have been released by the chairman or PR representatives. Police have begun investigating the matter and have no further comments until more evidence is revealed. It is currently being treated as a tragic accident, although the nature of the incident may change. We'll keep you updated_ ," said a pleasant female news anchor.

He set his teacup back down with a thud and took a deep breath when his phone rang. It was his secretary, Jiyoon.

" _Sir, did you see the morning news_? _The story's on every major channel in the country right now_ -"

" _Of course I saw it, Jiyoon-ah. I went through the security footage personally. Minjoon was like a son to me_."

" _I'm very sorry for your loss, sir_."

"... _Thank you_."

" _Is there anything I can do for you_?"

" _Cover this up. No more social media posts, no more news reports on the matter. Then find the bastard who pushed him down the stairs, and make sure they are well taken care of_."

" _Of course, sir_."


	23. Monsters Exist

**_A/N: Welcome to all my darling Seekers for chapter twenty-three! Finally the science babies are able to get down to business and do what they do best._**

* * *

 _Monsters exist, but they are too few in number to be truly dangerous._

 _More dangerous are the common men,_

 _the functionaries ready to believe and to act without asking questions._

\- Primo Levi

* * *

Fitz and Simmons observed the vaguely familiar complex flying past them as they were hauled roughly by the arms by four security guards through the building to an unknown location, where Ward had told them their destiny awaited. Spotless windows revealed shining chrome equipment as they passed, a motley cacophony of noise assaulting the air at random intervals as machines and their programmers alike went to work. Finally they came to a stop near the end of the hallway, and were thrown into a small lab. It was a mere few benchtops with rudimentary chemistry, biotechnology and other engineering equipment, but it was theirs.

"My God! I thought I'd never see an electron microscope again," Simmons burst excitedly, and almost immediately dissolved into a fit of coughing. "Sorry. Got a bit ahead of myself. I'm alright now."

Fitz was rendered dumbstruck, and continued to observe the room with his mouth agape. He found himself running absent-minded hands across the benchtops, rapping the machinery with his knuckles as if to verify their existence.

"You could take innumerous trips around the world with the money that this equipment costs," he breathed in admiration, looking back at Simmons bent over the workbench while organising slides with a little smile. She smiled back after a moment. Suddenly, and without words, Simmons found herself wrapping him in a tight embrace, fighting back tears of inexplicable gratitude.

"We made it," she affirmed. "We made it together, and now we're back. We're doing what we do best."

Her hands slid from their place intertwined about his neck and crept down to rest on his chest, feeling the bumps and ridges of the burn through his shirt that she also had. And she found herself looking into his eyes, and him looking back, as their lips met like magnets pulled together by the excitement of their electrons finally giving into what was, what had always been. He made a little noise of surprise but deepened the kiss, wrapping his hand around her waist to pull her closer, eyes squeezing shut. The space between them only drew them closer together, like the inevitable magnetism of a star's gravity. When they finally pulled away, it was out of necessity, as they found themselves breathless.

"Wow," Simmons said with a little nervous laugh.

Fitz raised a disbelieving eyebrow and let out a little nervous laugh himself.

" _Wow_ ," he agreed.

* * *

"Simmons, what's this?" he asked, resting a hand on his hip as he reached across the table with the other, grasping a piece of paper.

She made her way around the workbench from where she'd returned to inspecting her slides, and stopped to stand beside him.

"Looks like a lab experiment of some sort. Is that Ward's handwriting?"

"It's gotta be. No one else could be that illegible."

"Right. So he wants us to do what, exactly?"

Fitz licked his lips and began to read.

"Dearest FitzSimmons, I promised you a while ago that you would receive some lovely new toys in return for helping me with a little problem. Today I'm cashing in that cheque. I'm currently in Portugal harvesting some intel that's irrelevant to this particular venture, so you'll have to figure it out for yourselves. I want you to design a biological weapon, and I want you to do it fast. It needs to manifest insidiously. It must pass detection without a hitch, and bring its victims to the brink of death without ever taking them there. I want it to instill fear into the hearts of hardened men. Burn this after reading."

Simmons raised her eyebrows and scrunched her nose at the letter, meeting Fitz's eyes with equal fervour. At the bottom of the page, Ward had written, 'P.S: I love you' and drawn a childish smiley face.

"Between you and I, I think he needs Dr Garner more than we do," she remarked drily.

"Agreed."

"Well, I guess we have a bio-weapon to design."

"I guess we do. Any ideas, Dr Simmons?"

"Too damn many."

He resisted the urge to smirk at her expected abundance of ideas at any given time. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

"That's my girl."

Inhaling deeply, he raised Ward's letter to the flame of his blowtorch and incinerated it without so much as blinking, allowing the ashes the float back down to the bench. Burning the letter felt strangely symbolic to him; like the flames licking up the paper were eating up any evidence of Ward in their life. Fitz felt oddly thrilled by the idea of eradicating him entirely. Burning him away like a lost memory – just a piece of paper, gone in an instant. What a luxury that would have been.

* * *

He was broken out of his train of thought by a violent sneeze that racked his whole body.

"Aargh," Fitz spluttered, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "There's far too much dust in this room. Grab me a vacuum, would you?"

Simmons nodded and moved to go find one, when she stopped dead in her tracks.

"That's it! My goodness, that's it!" she exclaimed.

"That's _what_?" Fitz replied, not following her.

"A sneeze. Well, flu-like symptoms. No one would ever suspect the common influenza to be the result of a biological weapon. That's just it. We'll cultivate a potent virus that can't be replicated by blood cultures, which manifests as flu symptoms! And then suddenly, the patient – er, victim? Is on the brink of death."

His eyes flew wide.

"Yes – that's perfect, Simmons! You're a bloody genius!"

"Well, I s'pose my doctorates didn't magic themselves out of thin air, did they?"

They shared a grin, but the smiles fell from their faces as they both realised their cause for celebration. They would live, but Ward would kill – or almost kill, which wasn't much better ethically – potentially thousands of people with their design. Which would make escaping and taking their work with them that much more difficult than it already was.

"We can't make it, though," he muttered, turning to look into her soft hazel eyes.

"I – of course. It wouldn't be ethical. Not in the slightest," she agreed. "But... if, hypothetically-"

"Jemma Simmons! You are not seriously considering developing this thing!"

"I'm just saying, Fitz, it would be a scientific breakthrough! As close to a immunological miracle there ever was. And it would be ours!"

His mouth fell open in shock. He couldn't believe she was actually thinking about killing all those people for 'science'.

"It could never be a miracle. It would be a catastrophe-level biological event! Thousands of people will die, Simmons! And it'll be all our fault! Can you live with that? Because the Jemma I know would never let something like that happen. Not knowingly."

Her face softened from its stubborn frown as she processed the truth in his words. She did have a tendency to get carried away in the science of things. And that was something they could not afford in planning their eventual escape.

"Well – what are we going to do then, if we're not going to make it? That was our order."

Fitz threw his hands up by his face in exasperation, clasping at the back of his neck frustratedly.

"I don't know. We could... we pretend?"

Her eyebrows flew to her hairline.

"What on earth do you mean, pretend?"

"I just thought – I was thinking that we could like... half develop the virus, and just say something went wrong. We'll say we accidentally infected ourselves and we'll have to go into quarantine."

"Fitz, you are brilliant!"

"And quarantine is-"

"-offsite!"

"Exactly."

There was a pause as they exchanged a look of joy.

"I suppose we should get working then."

"Yes, I suppose we should."


	24. The Crack In The Window

**_A/N: Welcome to chapter twenty-four_** ** _aka when there is trouble in paradise. Bobbi has reached a crossroads, and for the first time, May doesn't know what to do either. Enjoy!_** ** _And a big thank you to all my readers in the Netherlands and the Czech Revar for sticking it through with me. Love you all._**

* * *

 _You become a house where the wind blows straight through,_

 _because no one bothers the crack in the window or lock on the door,_

 _and you're the house where people come and go as they please,_

 _because you're simply too unimpressed to care._

 _You let people in who you really shouldn't let in, and you let them walk around for a while,_

 _use your bed and use your books, and await the day when they simply get bored and leave._

 _You're still not bothered, though you knew they shouldn't have been let in in the first place,_

 _but still you just sit there..._

\- Charlotte Eriksson, You're Doing Just Fine

* * *

Bobbi generally thought of herself as an unassuming person. All she had heard and all that she knew was that the company held a short, but sentimental memorial service for Minjoon the next day, and that it was being treated as a tragic accident. And so she was inclined to believe it; to let sleeping dogs lie, shed a tear or two with everyone else in her department, but there was a feeling tugging at her gut when she shut her eyes at night. A feeling, but more like a sentence being screamed from the core of her being. _She killed him_. Bobbi shook herself out of her train of thought, and rolled over to the cool side of the pillow, blankets tangling carelessly around the lean muscles of her legs. _Go to sleep_ , she told herself. _Just shut your eyes and go to sleep_. But the tugging sensation haunted her dreams. It terrorised her every waking minute of the working day, and burned through her mind at night. Bobbi felt herself falling to a dark, black place, and found herself writhing awake in a haze of anxiety. She was a zombie the next morning, all primitive cravings, complex emotions and a vague sense of terror hovering over her like a storm cloud. _What is happening to me_? she asked herself. _Where did this all go wrong_? And that's when she realised that Daisy hadn't made contact in a long time. Sure, she was a busy woman, but she was also a conversational woman by nature. Always bubbly, always cracking jokes, always chattering about some fresh celebrity gossip even though everyone knew she only brought it up because that's what everyone else does. Something had changed in her since Fitz and Simmons were taken. Not all at once, but gradually, drip by drip, like a leaky faucet. And all of a sudden Bobbi didn't recognise the woman she knew and cherished. The agent she fought and laughed beside was gone with the wind.

" _It was all very... surreal to me. It felt like the moment I saw him lying there, all awkward angles and brain matter in the stairwell, it was like my spirit left my body. I didn't feel... there. Does that make sense? I don't know. I haven't felt the same since_ ," Juhee told them in a dull, numb voice.

The light in her expression had been extinguished by the horrors she had witnessed, and she held a similar air to a patient under anaesthesia – not asleep, but not quite sentient either. Bobbi nodded empathetically. She knew exactly how it felt.

"I think you should see someone," Bobbi replied earnestly. "I'm worried about you. You need help."

" _No_ ," Juhee said emphatically. " _I could never go to the shrink, my mother_ -"

"No offence, but to hell with your mom. You've got at least five to six symptoms of trauma and you need to do something about it before something else happens. Something bad."

" _Nothing is going to happen_ ," the petite woman insisted. " _Everything is going to be fine. I just need to get back to work and go on with my life_."

Bobbi raised her eyebrow challengingly, but relaxed her expression and crossed her arms instead when she realised her colleague would not change her mind.

"I'm sure you know what's right for you," she finished rather coldly, and almost immediately regretted it.

Not two weeks in and she was already pushing people away, fully knowing she didn't have the best of records when it came to not hurting people.

* * *

The door creaked and swung open gently as the clicking of May's cream-white stilettos entered the room, the quiet let poignant symbol of feminine strength almost preceding her as she shut the door behind her.

"Breaking hearts already?" the older woman quipped, crossing her arms in a similar manner to her.

"Shut up," Bobbi replied, fully intending to be facetious, but it came out a little more forceful than she'd intended.

"Is that how it's going to be today?" May mused icily. "'Cause in that case, I'll just leave you to your pity party."

"I just... fine. It's been a rough time lately, I'll admit that. But you already knew that, or you wouldn't have come here. So what do you know?"

There was a moment of silence as May thought over her response carefully, shifting her weight from one black-stockinged leg to the other.

"I know that Juhee just walked out of here in tears. I know that you've been using more concealer than usual to cover up the fact that you've been crying for days on end. And I know you refuse to admit any of this to me. What's going on?"

A deep exhale whooshed through Bobbi's chest. _Where do I even start_?

"You know how Daisy's been working alongside us the past few days? In the field?"

May nodded.

"Well... have you heard from her at all? About anything? Is she even giving reports?"

"I mean, obviously. It's protocol, we all know that. If you're out there, you're giving reports to Coulson. She's the one who processes the reports, so it's not like she has to send them to us," the older agent rationalised.

"That's not what I mean," Bobbi grunted in frustration.

"Then what do you mean?"

"I mean... I think..."

"Spit it out."

"I think she killed Minjoon."

May's eyebrows flew up to her hairline in surprise.

"That's one hell of an accusation, Bobbi. Are you sure you want to be pressing charges on a mission like this?"

She exhaled loudly and pressed her palms into the sleek glass table, continuing in the barest of whispers.

"Even if she did kill him, we can't say anything. It would compromise _everything_ we've built here. Sometimes... sometimes we have to do bad things to make bad people suffer. And she did say Coulson ordered her in. You trust Coulson, don't you?"

The blonde said nothing in reply.

"Don't you?" May demanded. "Bobbi?"

"I just – I don't know! I don't know who to trust these days! These people work harder than anyone else back home and we're meant to just betray them when the retrieval's over? We just leave like nothing happened?"

"Are you having second thoughts, Agent Morse?"

Bobbi clamped her mouth shut and frowned.

"I don't know. This is a very complex situation and I don't know how to handle it. So I'm asking you, as a senior officer and as my friend, May, if I should just forget about all this."

May remained stony-faced.

"Come back to me about it tomorrow," she replied finally. "But you need to make this decision on your own. And not a word about it to _anyone_ until the time comes to act."

The younger agent nodded solemnly, and May spun on her heels, exiting the office in the same calm manner she had entered it with.

Bobbi felt the drain of the situation sucking the life from her bones, leaving her once-bronzed complexion ghastly and pale. _I can't keep this up_ , she commiserated to herself. _But I can't stand aside and do nothing either. I'm seeing Coulson tomorrow for the monthly debrief, and I'm going to tell him that Daisy is no longer fit to serve SHIELD in active duty. Because I can't let this happen again_.


	25. Hope To Escape

__**A/N:**_ _ **This is chapter twenty-five**_ _ **Seekers! A loooot has happened at this point in the fic, eh?**_ _ **Here's to never slowing down :)**_ _ **And also some tooth-rotting fluff. For practice, obviously.**_ _ **God knows w**_ _ **e've earned it.**_ _ **Season 3's been brutal.**_ _ **Couple of not-so-subtle references in here, so if you catch them, I hope you enjoy them.**__

* * *

 _ _Desperation is the raw material of drastic change.__

 _ _Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in__

 _ _can hope to escape.__

 _ _\- William S. Burroughs__

* * *

There was a point where, at least from Jemma's perspective, nothing seemed to matter anymore. The only work she had to distract herself was an elaborate lie, deliberately constructed so they could escape the hell that had been their home for months now. It wasn't that they found themselves in a rut; rather, the virus seemed to be developing almost too well. Ward's request wasn't particularly difficult – there are any number of strains of any one virus, with thousands of variations in their effect on the body – rather it was the conditions which he demanded. Fitz sighed dramatically at the pages and pages of various promising lab reports.

"I think we're going to have trouble _not_ finding a virus that catalyses these symptoms. Almost all of these tests had consistent results. Now we just need to pick one and run with it," he stated flatly, pressing his hands onto the benchtop in mild frustration.

"Obviously the most suitable existing virus would be adenovirus serotype fourteen," Simmons began thoughtfully, "but that would be far too suspicious in too short of a time period from the initial transfer. So perhaps a genetically altered version of it, or-"

"Yeah, that's your division, not mine," Fitz replied abruptly.

"Right. Sorry. Continue."

"You see, Ward's going to want us to test it at some point," he explained, tip-toeing the subject gingerly like a cat walking across a thin fence.

Simmons buried her face in her hands, stepping away from the bench for a moment. "You're right, of course. Of course he is. What are we going to do? Human trials at this stage of experimentation are so far outside our code of ethics, you couldn't reach it with twenty-foot forceps."

"They're out of the question," he agreed. "I'll have to build some kind of simulation program, but I can't do it without Daisy. She's the only one who knows anything about these things, and we're shut away in here with no access to other specialists."

Simmons bit her lip thoughtfully, and continued.

"That... may not entirely be true. We pass what has to be _hundreds_ of offices on the way to the lab, they've got to have somebody working there."

"I – we... I didn't think of that. It's hard to worry about what other people are doing when you're getting tortured for days on end."

She frowned at his words, acutely aware of their weight. The weight of the truth hung in the air like bodies in a cellar.

Skeletons in a closet.

Two souls that died at the bottom of the ocean.

"I'm sorry," Simmons blurted after a moment, but she gleaned no response from him.

* * *

The next two months flew by in much the same manner. Weeks of late nights in the lab, Fitz slamming the benchtop with an open palm in frustration, and Simmons wanting to drop dead of the exhaustion became a common occurrence. On one such a night, she simply packed up her equipment quietly and sat on the floor, cross-legged like an angry child.

"It's the Academy all over again," Simmons joked bitterly.

A tiny smile played at the corners of Fitz's lips as he replayed the fuzzy memories he had of the place that brought them together.

"I suppose I'd enjoy it more if we weren't so... so - help me with the word?"

"Sleep-deprived? Utterly defeated? Deeply considering execution as an alternative?"

"I was just going to say tired."

The engineer pulled a sour face to punctuate his reply. He hated when Simmons got like this. Or more specifically, he hated any and all circumstances that brought out the morbid edge to her humour. She looked up at him, cocking her head to the side like a sad puppy. He hadn't struggled with phrasing in a while, and she knew that extensive stress brought that out in a head trauma patient. But they still had a long way to go before the research would yield anything useful, and they refused to give up just yet.

* * *

A few nights before the Day, Simmons closed the drawer containing the cultures they'd cultivated together, carefully peeled off her gloves and strode over to stand before him. Reverently cupping his face with her hands, she looked into his eyes, as if to say, _Are you okay?_ He smiled at her, but it was a weak shadow of what he had once been. Where Fitz had been a fierce beam of sunlight, he was now a candle by the window. Flickering desperately, neither here nor away; dancing between alive and too far gone.

"We're nearly done," she whispered to him, pressing her forehead against his. "Just a few more lab reports before we release a safe version of the virus, and we get out of here."

Fitz nodded, barely processing her words in his ghoulish state. They both eyed the surveillance camera in the corner cautiously before returning to their work. _Just a few more lab reports_ , Simmons told herself through the haze of fatigue settling over her brain. _And then you'll be free._

"I can't believe we've actually gotten this far. Working for Hydra, doing... what we're doing..." he trailed off with a vague sense of regret.

"It'll be over soon," Simmons replied, words heavy with double meaning. "The formula's nearly done."

She played idly with the corner of her lab coat as Fitz began to pack up his equipment.

 _Soon._

* * *

The biochemist bit her lip, stifling a smile as she felt strong arms wrap around her waist as carefully as their lab protocol allowed. Fitz pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, frowning slightly at the joint that was now sharp as glass from prisoner's rations, and watched her squeeze two drops of the solution in her hand into a petri dish.

"Morning," Simmons murmured happily.

"Good morning," he mumbled back in an equally chipper tone.

"Is it?"

"It is. Today is the day," Fitz whispered in her ear, and she could feel him smirking a little against her skin.

She raised her eyebrows a little, careful not to give anything away to the surveillance cameras.

"Mhmm," he hummed in satisfaction. Simmons decided the vibration of his voice against the gap between her neck and shoulder was her new favourite thing. "Today is the day we escape this God-forsaken place."

Fitz paired the statement with a frown for the cameras, as if he was confused by something Simmons was doing with the virus sample. _Just in case,_ he reminded himself. _They're watching our every move._ His partner froze mid-smile, realising the same thing.

"Just like we planned," she informed him quietly through her now effortlessly casual smile, as if they were discussing a memory from school. "You grab the tray with the ordinary flu cultures, I sneeze and bump into you. We get the symptoms of a cold, set off the quarantine alarm and call it code orange, claiming we've had an accident with the real virus samples-"

"And they take us to the containment area hidden beneath the office next door," he finished. "Got it."

There was a moment of silence while Simmons chewed on a thought.

"When we walk out those doors - or get wheeled out on stretchers, I suppose – do you think we'll be different people?" she asked, voice trembling ever so slightly with the quiver of her eyelashes.

The breath whooshed from Fitz's chest in a sigh as he set down the tray of the real virus samples, marvelling both at her words and at the power of life and death before him.

"I expect so. I certainly hope so. From SHIELD, to Hydra, to... us," he finished in a breathless whisper.

"We could be _anyone_."

The shimmering air of hope painted her voice in every colour imaginable, but Fitz shook his head with a little frown and met her eyes with the intention of disagreeing.

"Why be anyone when we could be FitzSimmons? Two twenty-somethings and achingly shy."

"Oh Fitz," Simmons replied with an affectionate eye roll and a toss of her mahogany silk-covered head. "We've been FitzSimmons the whole damn time."

He looked down at his cracked, worn-in sneakers with a self-deprecating smile and promised, "We're gonna get through this. Together."

Then Fitz picked up the tray, Simmons crashed into him and the petri dishes they'd spent months working on hit the floor. Scrambling away from the mess, the biochemist hit the quarantine alarm while her partner snatched the required paperwork from a folder on the other side of the room. The doors to the lab swung open to reveal impossibly tall men in impossibly bright hazmat suits as Simmons swayed ever so slightly on the spot. _God, this stuff works fast_ , she mused to herself before crashing to the floor in a coughing fit. _Too fast_. She looked over to Fitz with dazed concern and saw that he was in a similar state on the floor at the other end of the lab, the same look of surprised panic in his eyes.

"Fitz, 're you sure you got the right... one...?" she slurred in delayed alarm, but she was distracted by the way the world seemed to be blurring around her like a pleasant children's ride at the amusement park. _Like those little spinning teapots. I'd kill for a nice cup of tea_.

Simmons smiled at that thought before her knees gave out and her temple hit the ground with a chilling crack.


	26. To Keep A Secret

**_A/N: Chapter twenty-six has arrived, and so has Daisy Johnson._** ** _It's good to be back from hiatus. A lot gets revealed in this chapter, so buckle in._**

* * *

 _If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself._

\- George Orwell, 1984

* * *

There was a tic in Bobbi's cheekbone threatening to shatter her mask of perfect poise as she rapped her knuckles against Coulson's door. As she waited,she took in the familiar colour scheme and carefully laid out furniture of the plane. A place for everything and everything in its place. Zephyr One didn't quite have the rustic charm of the Bus; if by rustic you meant 'had undergone several critical structure repairs and two new paint jobs to cover both blood and bullet-holes'. The new mobile command unit had a ferocity to it, all sleek aerodynamics and none of the easy elegance of their former home. If the Bus was a friendly but efficient soccer mum with a pretty face, Zephyr was her tech-startup CEO,Crossfit-going beast of a younger sister. A refreshingly easy smirk graced her features for the first time in a while. _Fitz would like that analogy_ , she thought. _But he won't hear it until we get him back._

A soft grunt of acknowledgement from behind the door redirected her attention, and it swung open to reveal Coulson's weary but obliging smile.

"How can I help you, Agent Morse?" he asked in his standard polite businesslike manner.

Bobbi found the familiar dark velvet of his voice unexpectedly calming despite the croak of dehydration threatening to steal it.

"It's actually me that would like to help you, sir," Bobbi answered with equal politeness. "I'd like to formally voice concerns about an agent on this team."

Crossing the floor of his office quickly, she smoothed invisible wrinkles in her tac gear and sat stiffly in the chair by his desk. The Director's eyebrows rose ever so slightly, like lifting them was a great effort. "You know, I'd like to give you all the several weeks of vacation needed just to recover physically, but the world isn't often so kind," he commented drily. "Voice away."

Suddenly she found herself clamping her mouth shut, choosing instead to smile grimly in response.

"It's about Daisy, isn't it?" Coulson guessed, sounding more exhausted than ever.

She nodded with a worried curl of her bottom lip, and he buried his face in his hands.

"Me too," he admitted. Guilt entered his voice like an unwanted intruder in their house. "I've been on her for weeks about taking some time off but Andrew hasn't been available since-"

"Wait, Andrew? Dr Garner?"

"For the medical leave paperwork. So Daisy could get a good night's sleep for once."

"He's been in the building next to ours for a couple of months now, on and off. I thought all SHIELD employees got monitored by you?"

" _My_ SHIELD employees get monitored by me. Andrew's a consultant, but not just a consultant – he's a personal friend of mine. I don't consider it reasonable to monitor his whereabouts any more than strictly necessary."

He fell silent for a moment, mind ticking over. The Director wet his lips with his tongue before continuing.

"You said next door. What's he doing in the Samsung factory? Have the people there got a bad case of the nine-to-five blues or something?"

"I don't know, I was just checking to see where everyone was before I took a lunch break the other day, and there he was. He didn't seem to be moving around an awful lot, so maybe he even has his own office there. I'm guessing his position with them is it bit more long-term than it is with us," Bobbi reported thoughtfully. "But - you don't think..."

"No, he couldn't possibly know that they're Hydra," Coulson replied rather forcefully. "All the shady activity in this country is done with legitimate corporate fronts. They're actually trying to run a business here, and that's all he's ever going to see."

"Right. But what are we going to do about the whole... Daisy situation?"

He sighed deeply in lieu of reply, crossing his arms tightly in an attempt to fend off the permanently chilly office temperature. "She hasn't been particularly forthcoming about her mental state, but I think we can all agree that certain recent events have shed light on what that might look like. The best we can do for now is keep an eye on her and get on with our work until there's room on Dr Garner's schedule for us. Maybe then he'll answer the damn phone," Coulson grumbled.

"Recent events? You mean the – the stairwell, uh, incident?"

"I meant in general, but tell me more about the stairwell."

A breath whooshed from Bobbi's mouth in exasperation, stray hairs flying from her forehead.

"That's what I meant by _situation_ , sir. I think Daisy might have something to do with Minjoon's death."

Once she'd said it, there was no going back. A boulder dropped in Coulson's gut. Every tense moment he had experienced with Daisy rewrote itself in a horrifying and cynical lens. Suddenly he recalled all the mornings she had been silent, looking like hell – which had been every morning since FitzSimmons were taken. Suddenly he recalled the trembling edge to her voice, which had been in every interaction between herself and others since FitzSimmons were taken. Suddenly, he wish he'd slept more the night before he recommended Daisy replace the IT department manager. Then he might have been able to figure out why the security cameras had inexplicably turned off just minutes before the tragedy in the stairwell. _Convenient, isn't it_? a voice hissed in his head knowingly. _An automatic camera just turns itself off with no digital record of any interference, and a woman who knows surveillance software in and out. Convenient._

Coulson let out a very long and articulate string of swears that would have him looking for a job if SHIELD's Human Resources Department had that kind of jurisdiction over him. Bobbi's immaculately shaped eyebrows pinched together as she grimaced at the sound.

"I know," she said helplessly, her voice tinier than he'd ever heard it. "I know."

* * *

It was less the gentle tremble of Daisy's voice and more the way her chin rose several defiant degrees that indicated to Bobbi that she was mad. There was a feral edge to her exposing its teeth with each exchange of lines. Every word was a jab, every calm inflection a threat. If there had ever been a merciful side to Daisy, it was gone now.

"If you thought I was losing it, you could've said it to my face."

Daisy rounded off the sentence bluntly as more of a statement than a request, and it hit Bobbi like a stone. The taller agent pursed her lips as Daisy's brows furrowed deeper together, like they were trying to protect each other from the heat of the argument.

"We didn't want you to find out like this. We're just-"

"Don't you dare say you're just worried about me. I know what a burden I've been to this team and I _hate_ it."

Bobbi frowned deeply, and replied, "You shouldn't talk about yourself that way."

Daisy tried her best not to notice that she didn't correct her. It didn't work.

"You didn't deny it. So you agree then. I'm a burden."

The blonde pulled an annoyed face in response. Her mind told her to reassure Daisy, but her gut told her that the hacker should stop feeling sorry for herself. Her mind won.

"No one said you were a burden. Just... just take it easy until Andrew comes back, alright?" Bobbi told her in the most gentle voice she could muster.

"Yes, ma'am," Daisy shot back sarcastically.

She fell silent and abruptly returned to her work, Bobbi's cue to shut the door quietly behind her with a sigh. The conversation was over.

Daisy swore internally. _They know._


End file.
